Hearts of Stone
by VirgCoup
Summary: Princess Éiwyn of Annúminas has the luxury of being able to choose whom she will marry. When Thorin Oakenshield asks for her hand, she spurns him unfairly. After her father dies a year later, Éiwyn is cast off by the new king into Thorin's hands. She comes to respect and admire him, but can she learn to love him?
1. Chapter 1

**AU: Tolkien-lite. This story uses characters and concepts from the Hobbit and relies on Tolkien's maps, but the events portrayed in the Hobbit do not occur. The characters are Men, not dwarves, but orcs do play a part. If you want a slow burn, Pride & Prejudice & Thorin Oakenshield style romance, then come on in!**

Éiwyn rushed through the castle's halls, bumping into one servant after another in her haste. It was her father's turn to host the annual Tournament, but despite months of planning, the preparations were not yet complete. Even as guests marched through the front gate the very beds they would sleep in were being made.

"Sheets!" Éiwyn shouted down a long corridor. "I have fresh sheets!" Maids burst from three different bedchambers at the same time, each in a hurry to secure the proffered linens. Now empty handed, Éiwyn walked quickly through the halls to find what else remained unfinished.

"My lady." A breathless young maid ran up to Éiwyn, her hand clutching her chest. "This suite of rooms is still unmade." The girl's hands shook as she confessed this great sin to Éiwyn, who could only laugh softly.

"Peace, May," she said as she followed the maid into the room. "It will go faster if I help." May's eyes flew open at the impropriety, but Éiwyn was already shaking out a fresh set of sheets. Working together, the task was done in no time, but even that was not fast enough.

The young women had just smoothed the top blanket when the room's occupant arrived. A man dressed in a deep blue tunic stood in the doorway. His dark hair ranged past his broad shoulders and a braid dangled from either side of his wide brow. The surprised look on his face was quickly replaced with one of amused interest.

"My Lord Thorin," came a man's voice in the hallway, "these rooms will be-Éiwyn!"

She looked past Thorin at the second man, who was dressed elegantly in silver and black. His own look of surprise changed to a dreadful scowl aimed directly at her.

Éiwyn bowed her head to the two men. "My lord," she said to the first. "Father," to the second. May bowed as well, clutching the folds of her skirt in trembling hands.

King Éisten of Annúminas straightened his tunic and regained his composure. "My Lord Thorin, do you remember my daughter, Éiwyn, who I am sure has someplace better to be?"

"I remember." Thorin's deep voice and keen blue eyes revealed nothing that indicated he did, in fact, remember Éiwyn. She nodded again all the same.

Her father stepped aside as Éiwyn and the young maid swept out of the room. As they rushed down the hallway, she could hear her father clear his throat before he wished Thorin to take his ease.

"Oh, Miss." May was all in a flurry at Éiwyn's side. "You shouldn't have been helping me. Your father will put me out for sure."

"He will do no such thing." Éiwyn squeezed the girl's hand. "Come, let's see what else there is to do." She gave May a warm smile, which seemed to cheer her. "Shall we try the kitchens?"

The kitchens turned out to be a veritable steam bath. The heat from so many ovens baking up so many delights was positively wilting. Thora, the head baker, gave Éiwyn a skeptical look when she offered to help, but set a bowl of dough before her all the same.

The "Precocious Princess", as she had been known in her youth, was no stranger to the older servants, who had often tired of tending her. Now that she was a grown woman, some of them felt it improper to accept Éiwyn's help. Fortunately, Thora wasn't one of them.

"This'll need to be colored." Thora put a few drops of red something on the dough, and Éiwyn set to work kneading. Several women stood in a line at the long counter, rhythmically kneading balls of dough into various colors.

"Seen anybody yet?" one of the baker's girls asked.

"We just did," May said shyly.

"Who?" the others all wanted to know, their eager eyes all trained on May.

"It was...oh, I can't remember his name!" May burst into giggles. "Thor?"

" _Thorin_ ," Éiwyn corrected.

One of the older girls frowned at the name. "I was hoping for Prince Thengel."

The baker girls fell into a bout of laughter. Talk went down the line of which king or prince was the most handsome, the most brave, the most worthy of honor. Focused on kneading her dough, Éiwyn lost track of the conversation.

Her mind drifted back to Thorin, the gruff figure she'd met in the guest chamber. Of course he didn't remember her. Why would he? Thorin was a man who seemed to never have a kind word or a smile for anyone. She had met him several times over the last few years, and each time it seemed a completely new experience for the man. She might have been offended had she cared for his opinion at all.

He and his company traveled a great deal, she knew that much about him. They were always passing through on the way to somewhere, never settled in their own lands. This alone was a black mark against him to Éiwyn's way of thinking, for Éiwyn loved her home. The thought of leaving it for months on end was a heartbreak to her. Home and hearth were enough for her. She had no wish for the nomadic life.

Her mouth turned down into a frown and her brows drew together. There was something else she didn't like about this Thorin. For all his lack of memory of ever having seen her before, he seemed to always watch her with his scowling, steely eyes.

Last autumn, his company passed though Annúminas just after a series of orc-raids in the outlands. Thorin and his men stayed with her father for nearly a week. She often met him in the corridors and had several meals with him, but she could think of no words spoken between them. His scowling eyes were ever present but never conversation. Thorin was not the first guest she would have hoped to greet, herself.

#

Once she was certain her bowl of sweetbread dough was sufficiently dyed, Éiwyn scurried to her chambers to prepare for the evening. The Tournaments were nebulous things, encompassing competitions between men as well as times of passing on skills, lasting anywhere from one week to more than two months (so Éiwyn had heard). They generally had no set events of any kind-save that they were always begun and ended with a feast.

With the aid of her handmaiden Betsy, Éiwyn had just slipped off her outer dress when a sharp rap sounded at her door. "Éiwyn! Are you there?"

She sighed and pulled on a robe. "Yes, Father." Éiwyn opened the door to find her father glowering at her. He strode into her chamber and shut the door behind him. Betsy skittered away to the windows under the pretense of smoothing Éiwyn's evening dress.

"I gave you one instruction this morning, did I not?" Her father stood before her imperiously. He raised his eyebrows as though to repeat the question, so she nodded. "I told you to make a good impression. I did _not_ tell you to help the maids make the beds!"

"Father-" Éiwyn raised her hands to soothe him but her father was in no mood for it.

"Once a year I ask this of you, Éiwyn, just once." He put his hands on her shoulders, and his kingly sternness melted into simple fatherhood. "I ask you to at least _pretend_ to obey me during Tournament."

"I'm sorry, Father. I thought I should help..." Éiwyn trailed off, all explanations unnecessary.

"I know." King Éisten's shoulders sank in a sigh. "But instead, you were discovered doing servant's work by Thorin Oakenshield. I cannot stress enough that you are not to show the slightest inclination to work or worry during the rest of Tournament."

Éiwyn quickly laced her fingers behind her back. "I understand, Father."

Éisten sighed again theatrically, and shook his head. He reached behind her back to grab one of her wrists, pulling her hand in front of her face. Her palm and fingers were stained red from the food dye. "Do you?"

He strode the few steps back to her door. "Betsy, see to it that her hands are entirely her natural color before the feast begins."

#

The opening of the Tournament at Annúminas was a rousing success as far as King Éisten was concerned. Éiwyn watched as her father strode through his halls warmly greeting his guests. When she caught his eye, she gave him a small wave to indicate Betsy's furious scrubbing had done the trick. He nodded and smiled before continuing through the crowd.

Left to her own devices, Éiwyn would have watched the goings-on from the balcony level, where servants and children could see the festivities without having to experience them first hand. However, it had been made abundantly clear that, this night, trading the role of princess for commoner would not be tolerated.

Royals, lords, and ladies-all must be welcomed into the great hall. By the time she was permitted to sit at table, Éiwyn's cheeks were sore from smiling and she longed for the meal she had smelled in the kitchens earlier in the afternoon.

Éiwyn wove through the crowds to find her place at her father's table. She recognized a few others seated with them, but the rest were strangers to her. Conversation filled the great hall as the supper courses were served. The young man sitting to Éiwyn's left greeted her over the chorus of voices. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Princess Éiwyn. I am Hemming, of Dunland."

Éiwyn nodded in greeting. Although conversations went around their table, Hemming took full advantage of having the princess's ear for the evening. She listened with polite interest as he regaled her with stories of Dunland, his status there, and of his travels to Annúminas. With one ear constantly filled with Hemming's chatter, Éiwyn had a difficult time following the rest of the talk at table. She caught snippets but was none the wiser for them.

The meal over, guests began to mill through the hall again, searching for old friends or seeking out new ones. Still Éiwyn sat, listening to the charming drone of Hemming's stories, when Thorin Oakenshield approached their table. He greeted King Éisten and commended him on the feast. Thorin turned his attention to Éiwyn, acknowledged her with a slight nod, then strode away again.

Éiwyn quietly sighed in exasperation as she watched Thorin return to his company. Hemming caught her watching. "Do you know Thorin Oakenshield well?" he asked.

"About as well as I ever hope to." Éiwyn took a sip of wine and returned her attention to Hemming.

He glanced at Thorin's table. "You're not alone in that opinion. He's not an easy man to like."

Éiwyn shook her head. "I should not have said that. I merely meant that he is not an easy man to get to know."

"I would say you already have." Hemming smiled at Éiwyn. "What you see is what you get with Thorin Oakenshield."

"What do you know of him? I can make nothing of him."

"He's most well known for losing his kingdom, of course." A grim smile came over Hemming's face as Éiwyn's eyes went wide in surprise. "It wasn't entirely his fault." Hemming lightly put a reassuring hand over Éiwyn's own. "Dragons aren't easy to kill. But when you refuse to even try, well, they are impossible to kill."

Éiwyn shifted her hand out from under Hemming's as she reached for her wineglass. She did not want to encourage any affection on his part. For her side, she suddenly felt inclined to know more about Thorin's history. That a dragon was involved in it was entirely novel to her. "Why did they not try to kill the dragon?"

"Who can say? Perhaps they were too few fighters. Perhaps they didn't know how. Perhaps it was fear."

Éiwyn looked across the hall to where Thorin sat with his company. He spoke with a fierce bald man who had arms strong enough to snap a small tree. She didn't have to see the rest of their company to know courage was not something they lacked. She shook her head dismissively at Hemming. "I don't think it could have been fear."

"Oh no?" Hemming looked surprised at her confidence. "Consider this." He leaned closer to speak conspiratorially in Éiwyn's ear. "Their little company of nomads are always on the move. Always _away_ from where orcs or goblin raids have been. They're always found in the safest of harbors. If a town is secure, you can bet the company of Thorin Oakenshield will be there."

Éiwyn thought back to the company's visit the previous autumn. She frowned as she realized that it did actually follow the end of an orc-raid. The company arrived several days after the lands were secured, but surely that had been coincidence.

"Would you care to take a stroll with me?" Hemming was once again smiling at Éiwyn, reminding her that she was at table with him, not Thorin Oakenshield.

For the first time, Éiwyn took a good look at Hemming. He was handsome, with loose auburn hair in the style of Dunland, and bright green eyes. She was sure any number of young women at the feast would have been happy to receive such an invitation.

"Thank you, but no," Éiwyn demurred. "It's time I find my father." King Éisten had left the table shortly before their conversation about Thorin. Éiwyn wondered whether she would have encouraged such gossip had her father been present.

She knew, of course, the answer was no.

After taking her leave of the table, she wove through the crowds to stand at her father's side. He was laughing heartily with a man of Fornost. At Éiwyn's approach, the king gave her a generous smile but quickly returned to his talk. Éiwyn didn't mind; she did not want to join her father's conversation, she merely wanted to avoid further conversation with Hemming.

At twenty-four, Éiwyn had little interest in idle flirtation with strangers. She was lucky that her father indulged her. Where some fathers might arrange a marriage without the young woman's knowledge or consent, her father granted her complete discretion when it came to choosing a husband. As such, Éiwyn was content to have none at all. She loved her father and her home, and had no wish to leave them. Now and then she was vaguely aware that her heart was untouched, but it never troubled her. She kept herself too busy in her own kingdom to worry over whether she might one day rule another.

As she scanned the room, her eyes were suddenly caught by Thorin's. He was still seated at table, apparently listening to the bald man, but his gaze locked on her as though he had been watching her all the while. He could not possibly have heard her gossiping about him, but she quickly averted her eyes all the same. Her stomach twisted into pangs of guilt.

Listening absently to her father's conversation, Éiwyn stared blankly at the edging of her father's tunic. A dark shape approached her right side and she turned to see Thorin Oakenshield standing next to her.

"Oh." Éiwyn barely concealed her start of surprise. Thorin nodded deeply to her, and, belatedly, she did the same.

"Are you enjoying yourself, my lady?" Thorin's voice was deep and melodious, yet strangely distant and unreadable.

Éiwyn's guilty thoughts returned to the slander of his character she had heard just moments before. "No!" She felt like the Precocious Princess all over again, getting caught with her hand in the sweets. "I mean, yes, it's been a lovely evening."

He did not respond, merely looked at her in a way that made her feel he was dissatisfied with what he saw. "Are you enjoying yourself?" she asked, trying for politeness.

"Yes. It's been a lovely evening." His steady gaze was betrayed by the slightest smile that played at his lips.

Involuntarily, Éiwyn's head snapped an inch to the side. _Mockery_? His disinterest didn't bother her, but for him to laugh at her was irksome.

"Where have your travels taken you lately, my lord?" Éiwyn's stomach blazed with fear at her boldness.

Now it was Thorin's turn to be taken by surprise. "My lady, we were most recently in the Far Downs."

"I understand there have been orc raids in that region." Éiwyn had heard no such thing. Why was she asking this? What could she possibly gain?

"Yes, there had been some orc raids." His eyes never moved from hers.

"Was your visit before or after the orc raids?"

"After." She could see that Thorin had caught on to her interrogation, although apparently neither quite knew what she was hoping to discover.

"That was lucky." Éiwyn smiled in affected relief.

"Indeed." Thorin was composed as he watched her with those eyes that seemed to both judge and pity her at the same time. She had to pull her own gaze away from his and found herself staring at the silver bead on one of his braids.

Thorin leaned closer to Éiwyn and dropped his voice low. "Do you often assist the chambermaids?" She saw that tiny tug of a smile at his lips again. Was this more mockery, or did he think he was making a joke? Éiwyn refused to let herself be affected by his scorn.

"Yes, often," she said, holding her head a little higher as though challenging him to judge her. "And the bakers, and the gardeners, and anyone else who needs it."

Thorin nodded slowly. "I am sure you do." An inscrutable response, to Éiwyn's mind. She could only look at him in confusion. She wasn't sure what to think of their conversation, and she certainly had no idea what Thorin Oakenshield was thinking.

"I am probably needed in the kitchens as we speak." Éiwyn nodded to Thorin and did not even wait for his return bow before she swept away from him towards the outer hall.

 _That did not go well._


	2. Chapter 2

The day after the opening feast offered few activities, as passed down by Tournament tradition. Too many celebrants were lying abed, nursing sore heads and unhappy stomachs. Éiwyn had not particularly overindulged, but two glasses of wine still left her with an uncomfortable headache.

As soon as she was dressed, she walked out to the castle gardens. She felt sure fresh air and sunshine would clear her aching head. If nothing else, it kept her from the hustle and bustle of her father's guests wandering groggily through her home.

This Tournament they had prepared sixty guest beds throughout the great halls. Many were open bunks for single men, but at least twenty guest chambers were filled with various dignitaries. _As I know firsthand._

Her father had said nothing to her regarding her abrupt departure from Thorin Oakenshield the night before. She could only assume he had not heard her say she was wanted in the kitchens, either, or Éiwyn would have listened to her fill of chastisement by now. Her father granted her a great deal of freedom, but he would not be pleased with more direct disobedience.

After wandering through the roses for half an hour, Éiwyn's head felt much improved. She thought she would take her horse out for a ride before the competitions were underway for the day. Alfrid had not been ridden for some time, busy as she had been with Tournament preparations.

As she passed the low building next to the stables where the work carts were kept, Éiwyn heard a man cry out in pain. The sound was muffled, but she thought it must have come from within the cart house. It sounded a second time, and she had no doubt. Two of Thorin Oakenshield's company stood at the doors of the building. One was the gruff bald man she had seen the night before, who gave her such a look of menace that she dashed away.

Éiwyn quickly turned the corner of the stables. She ran back behind the buildings, where a second door on the far side of the cart house was not barricaded by Thorin's men. As she crept to it, the man's stifled cry came again. Éiwyn opened the door just enough to peer inside. What she saw made her sick.

A man was bound, his hands tied to a beam above his head. He wore no tunic, and several bloody wounds were visible across his back. A second man stood behind him, strap in hand, ready for another blow. He brought the strap down across the man's back with a ferocity that frightened Éiwyn to the core. The bound man groaned as the blow fell. Éiwyn clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent her own cry from being heard.

The second man laid down the strap, untied the beaten man's hands, and gave him a small bundle of clothes. As he took the bundle, Éiwyn plainly recognized Hemming as the one who had received the blows.

"Get out." The second man's words were low, but Éiwyn recognized the voice, for she had spoken with him last night, as well. His bearing, his dark hair, even his boots betrayed that the man who wielded the strap was Thorin Oakenshield.

He stormed out of the carriage house close on the heels of Hemming. Éiwyn slumped against the door, her hand still held tight against her mouth. A cold sickness crept inside her as tears stung her eyes. She had never seen a man beaten before, nor had it ever dawned on her that she might. Thorin's brutality and Hemming's flayed flesh played before her eyes and churned her stomach. She convulsed and thought she might vomit, but it never came.

Why would Thorin do such a thing to man he seemingly didn't know? Could he possibly have known what Hemming told Éiwyn the night before? An accusation of cowardice is a terrible thing, but most men would have challenged their slanderer to a fair fight on the fields rather than string him up to be whipped while others kept watch.

Before Éiwyn knew what she was doing, she was up and running for the castle. She raced through the corridors, giving no thought to the guests and revelers she passed. A few tried to greet her or ask what was the matter, but Éiwyn was not to be stopped until she reached her father's chambers. She knocked on the door urgently. "Father!"

"Éiwyn?" came the muffled reply. "Come in, child."

She sprang into the room. Her father was just finishing his morning meal at a little table near the windows. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin as she rushed to his feet. Éiwyn knelt beside him, clutching at his knees as she sobbed.

"Éiwyn, what on earth has happened?"

"Father." Éiwyn looked up into her father's eyes. "I just saw a man being beaten. He was whipped viciously by Thorin Oakenshield."

The worry instantly faded from her father's expression. "I see. I am sorry you witnessed that."

Éiwyn's cries caught in her chest. "You know of this?"

"I do. And believe me when I tell you it does not concern you." He patted her gently on the shoulders. "Try to put it out of your mind."

She stared at her father in shock at his indifference. "How can I? Thorin Oakenshield whipped Hemming. They are both guests in our home! How can I forget that?"

"Éiwyn, there are some things that must be done in defense of someone's honor. You must accept this." The king's stern expression said she must not press him further.

Éiwyn shook her head in disgust. "It was horrible, father. How can one man do such a thing to another in the name of honor?"

"My daughter, you know nothing of the world. Nothing of men or their ways."

She certainly did not if a man could have so brutal a response to a slight against his name. She had not believed Thorin Oakenshield was cowardly before, but now she had no doubt.

"What is to become of Hemming?"

"He is leaving our lands immediately. I will discuss this matter no further with you, nor are you to speak of it. That is my final word, Éiwyn." He turned back to his meal, the conversation finished.

Disappointed in her father, Éiwyn stood to leave.

"Go, enjoy the Tournament." Her father's voice was warm but the words rang cold in Éiwyn's ears.

"How can I take pleasure in watching men pretend to fight each other when I have seen true cruelty?"

#

The next few days passed in a blur. Éiwyn had no interest in watching the Tournament proceedings. The mock battles only brought to mind Hemming's bloody back and Thorin's heartless strikes. Each time she saw Thorin, her stomach turned over in fear and disgust. She avoided interacting with him at all costs.

Éiwyn spent much of this time in the gardens. They were on the opposite side of the great hall from the competition fields, so she was unlikely to hear the clashing of swords or cheering of the crowd. She strolled the lanes in quiet solitude, grateful for her refuge.

On one of these walks, Éiwyn was lost in a reverie when she looked up to see Thorin Oakenshield walking towards her from the end of the lane. She gasped and couldn't help herself-she turned on her heel and strode quickly away from him. He did not call out to her, which made little difference, as she would not have stopped for the world.

Despite her best efforts to keep her distance from him, Éiwyn crossed paths with Thorin more often than she ever had done before. Every meal she ate in the halls, each time she relented and joined the festivities on the competition fields, Thorin's eyes found her. At first she averted her gaze, but after a while she grew brave and glared at him openly. If she could not be rid of him, neither would she conceal her dislike for him.

Even her solitary walks were not sacred. Thorin appeared in the garden with her more than once. She was grateful she could see him from a long way off and return to the halls before their paths must cross. She wondered why he would take such an interest in the garden, now of all times. Her resentment towards him built until she felt sure the next time she saw him in the rose walk she would order him away.

That resolve turned out to be an idle thought. The next time she did see Thorin in the garden, he was already too close upon her to avoid. He turned a bend and strode to her before she had time to flee.

He wore a deep blue tunic, as he often seemed to do, but he had a formal shirt of glittering partial chain mail over it. Éiwyn guessed he had just come from a competition, although the mail shirt appeared to be more ceremonial than functional.

"Princess Éiwyn," Thorin said softly as he bowed low. "Will you walk with me?" His voice was so quiet and his demeanor so meek, Éiwyn was thrown off guard. Against her better judgment, she nodded slightly and they slowly began to walk along the lane. Éiwyn knew that, as hostess of the Tournament, she was expected to engage Thorin in conversation, but she could think of nothing she wished to say to him. She willed herself to walk beside him calmly, but she could do no more.

To avoid looking at the imposing figure at her side, Éiwyn took in the garden scene all about her. Brilliant roses of pink, red, and white bloomed all around and pink cornus cascaded down from the trees in a shower of blossoms. Lush green growth seemed to completely envelop them.

After some minutes in silence, Thorin stopped and faced her. "Éiwyn," he said, his voice strained, "I am not a formal man. I do not enjoy ceremony. I cannot-forgive me, but I must tell you-I love you."

Éiwyn turned sharply to stare at Thorin. His face was stern as ever, almost a mask of stone, but his eyes shone with passionate desperation. He was certainly not in jest.

"I have loved you for some time. I can wait no longer. I must have you for my own. Will you do me the honor of standing at my side as my wife?" His steel blue eyes searched her face as he waited for her answer.

Éiwyn's thoughts tumbled in confusion, unable to make sense of him. How could he ask this of her? The desperation written across his face was too much for her-she had to draw her eyes from his. Her gaze dropped to his hands, the same hands that had beaten Hemming, which he held out as though waiting only for her to take them. She inhaled deeply and stood as tall as she was able.

"I thank you for the compliment you give me, but I cannot be bound to you." She kept as calm as she might while looking into his eyes, which sparked with agitation.

"Cannot?" he repeated. "You are betrothed, then." His voice was so full of sorrow, she almost pitied him.

"No, my lord, I am not betrothed."

Thorin's brows furrowed. "Yet you are refusing me?"

"I am."

"May I ask the reason you refuse me thusly?" Thorin's voice was level, but it seemed an effort to keep himself in check.

"I have no wish to be your wife." Éiwyn's own voice was steady, but her heart raced in her chest.

"No wish?" Thorin repeated as though he could not understand her words. Desperately, he reached out and took her small hands in his own strong ones. "Éiwyn, I love you." Her fear became anger. She pulled her hands from his grasp and stepped back a pace.

"But I do not love you." He recoiled as though she had slapped him. "Do you think I could ever be bound to a man such as you?" She spat the words out in disgust. "I saw you whip a man just days ago-can you deny it?"

Thorin appeared shocked at her knowledge of this, but he shook his head. "I do not deny it."

"You brutally beat an innocent man while others stood guard. More than this, you and your company are known to travel through the lands, avoiding orcs and only staying to rest where you may find a safe haven. You have shown nothing but arrogance and disdain for me from my earliest memory of you." Éiwyn raged against him, not stopping herself from delivering the final insult. "Your kingdom is lost due to your own cowardice."

Éiwyn watched Thorin's face fall with her every heated word. His eyes, so recently full of desperate love, now shone in anger. "I have only ever known you to be an arrogant, cowardly, brutal man. How could I ever be bound to you?"

"You have said quite enough." Thorin's voice was a low rumble, more terrible than a shout would have been. "So this is your opinion of me? I am sorry we have so misjudged one another. I will take my leave of you." He bowed low and walked away through the gardens.

Éiwyn watched him go until she was sure he wouldn't turn back. She fell to her knees, covering her eyes with trembling hands as her whole body shook. She had never raised her voice to a man, certainly she had never insulted one to his face. Her words rang through her ears, repeating the awful things that had just spewed from her mouth. She did not know what was more disgusting to her, Thorin's proposal or her response to it.

She stayed on the grassy path of the garden until dew soaked her dress through to her legs, the chill bringing her out of her daze. She snuck back to her room, hoping she would not see Thorin in the great hall. Éiwyn doubted very much that he wished to see her again, either.

She peeled off her wet things, ignoring Betsy's cries of dismay at the muddy dress she left on the floor. She lay in her bed and buried her face in her hands.

"I have a terrible headache. Please let me be."


	3. Chapter 3

Éiwyn remained in her room all that evening, too unhappy to spend time among the Tournament guests. She did not regret her refusal of Thorin by any means, but the anger she displayed and vile things she said to him were shameful. She feared Thorin would relate their confrontation to her father. Although confident her father would not force her to marry Thorin, she knew he would be bitterly disappointed in her actions.

By turns, Éiwyn was angry with Thorin for proposing to her, and with herself for losing her temper. That Thorin Oakenshield's arrogance had led him to believe that her disdain for him had been love continued to rile her. What would he have thought had she but been civil to him? She tried to think through their interactions over the past few years, searching for any hint of impropriety on her part, but could find none. It had to come down to his pride.

As to her own pride, she could not reach such easy conclusions. It was wrong of her to refuse Thorin in such a hateful manner, no matter how much she disliked his offer. It seemed she was both in the right for her refusal, and in the wrong for the manner in which she gave it. She could not accept such a man, and yet the pain in his eyes when she said she did not love him gnawed at her.

She passed the night in fitful sleep, disturbed by vague nightmares. In the morning, after Betsy brought a small breakfast to her room, Éiwyn decided she must show her face. She could not stay locked in her chamber forever.

She paced slowly through the corridors. Few guests were about, since most were already on the competition fields. Her eyes darted here and there, dreading to find Thorin waiting for her around a corner, but he did not appear. As Éiwyn walked across the grassy lawn to the pavilions, her father discovered her and met her with open arms.

"There is my girl," he said as he gave her a quick embrace. "How is your headache? I'm afraid this Tournament has been too much for you, has it not?"

Éiwyn smiled faintly. "It has not been too much for me, Father."

He eyed her critically. "You have spent most of your time hiding in the gardens, I know this much. I understand your reasons, you know, my dear." He hugged her again. _Had_ Thorin told her father everything? "It is hard for you to see so many strangers wandering through your home."

Relieved at her father's ignorance of the previous day's proposal, Éiwyn smiled and nodded. Her father continued on with well-intended cheer. "Take heart. Today is the final day of the Tournament. The party is already breaking up, you see. We had our first departures at dawn this morning."

Éiwyn asked who it was, although she thought she guessed.

"Thorin Oakenshield and his company left first thing." Her father put an arm around her shoulders as he led her into the shade of the pavilion. "They cannot linger as long as others may, you know." Éiwyn nodded, although she _didn't_ know. Relief washed over her. No more hiding in her room. He was gone.

The closing feast that evening and their many guests' departures the following day held little interest for Éiwyn. She bid everyone farewell at her father's side, but she could hardly tell one guest from the other, she paid so little attention. Finally, the great hall was quiet again, and Éiwyn appreciated her peace.

The renewed solitude was a comfort to her, but it did not remain so for long. Her guilty conscience niggled at her, always reminding her of the terrible things she had said to Thorin and the hurt in his eyes when he heard them. It was perhaps the worst thing she had ever done. When she considered that a part of her did not regret it, she hardly knew how to handle herself.

Without company, boredom loomed over Éiwyn, so she sought distraction and idle chatter among the washwomen. She opened the door of the washroom without knocking, as she was used to do, and found two women at the huge tubs. The younger of the two flinched when the door flew open and she choked back a cry.

"Why, Cadi, what's the matter?" Éiwyn asked in good humor. Cadi, just a girl of sixteen, shook her head, refusing to speak. Éiwyn noticed a dark mark on her mouth with tinges of yellow at the edges. "What has happened?" Éiwyn whispered.

"Oh, my lady!" Cadi exclaimed as she rushed out of the washroom in tears. Éiwyn turned to the other washer, a plump older woman named Dorna. "What's happened?"

Dorna shook her head as she continued stirring the wash. "It's nothing for you to worry about, my lady."

Éiwyn stepped closer to the woman. "But Cadi looked as though she had been struck!"

"Aye, that she was," Dorna confirmed with a heavy sigh. "I know I can trust you, my lady, for you are not one to gossip." Guilt pricked at Éiwyn at this praise. "Our Cadi was taken after the opening feast."

Éiwyn's brow furrowed. "Taken where?"

Dorna shook her head. "You don't take my meaning. Her maidenhood was taken, by a stranger, you see. She's not quite been the same since. 'Course that's only natural."

Éiwyn's mouth dropped open as understanding dawned on her. "That's awful, Dorna. Has anything been done? Does she know who it was?"

"Aye." The woman continued placidly stirring the wash, which began to infuriate Éiwyn. "If she knows who it was, we must tell father. He will do something about it. Please, we must go to him at once." Éiwyn turned back to the doorway, waiting for Dorna to follow.

"There's no need of that, my lady. It's already been taken care of by Thorin Oakenshield."

Éiwyn stopped dead in her tracks. "Thorin...?" The question faded on her lips as her mouth went dry.

"Oh, aye. They don't stand for such things in the Ered Luin. Men who attack women are cast out, don't you know?" Éiwyn could do nothing but stare at Dorna. "The man what done it wasn't one of Thorin's company, mind, but from all I've heard, he received a mighty lashing from Thorin Oakenshield himself. We won't see that bad 'un back in Annúminas again, I can tell you that."

Éiwyn sat down hard on a wash barrel. Could this be? Could Thorin have been punishing Hemming for what he did to Cadi? Dorna wasn't likely to lie about such a private matter. Éiwyn remembered that her father himself had known the punishment was being meted out. She felt sick.

"Don't you worry over our Cadi," Dorna told her, partially misinterpreting her reaction. "She'll come right again."

"Does she..." Éiwyn didn't know what to say. "Is there anything I can do for her?"

Dorna smiled at Éiwyn. "You're too kind, my lady. Cadi's drinking her tea and holding up as well as ever she can. She's a tough one, our Cadi."

"Thank you for telling me, Dorna. I won't break your confidence."

Éiwyn walked through the castle halls in abject shame. She had misjudged the situation entirely, even after telling her father what she had seen. He had told her it was a matter of honor, but she had thought he meant Thorin's. She had been so convinced Thorin was in the wrong, she even threw her knowledge of the whipping in his face as she refused him.

Éiwyn stopped her pacing. She had accused Thorin of beating an innocent man and he had said nothing to defend himself. What must he think of her?

#

Summer faded into fall, yet Éiwyn's self-reproach lingered. She could not undo the past, but she would labor to remedy her quick judgments and impertinent conduct. That she had lived so many years without learning to hold her tongue was a continual source of regret. She was a grown woman, after all, and she must set aside the Precocious Princess.

One evening, as a chill wind blew hard against the great hall, she sought her father in his study. The door was open wide and the king sat at his desk, his forehead resting on one hand. She hesitated to trouble him, but knocked on the door all the same.

"Éiwyn, this is a pleasant surprise." Her father appeared to cast off his cares and strode over to embrace her. He kissed the top of her head and looked hard into her eyes. "You've kept to yourself a great deal lately. Are you finally in love, my girl?" His eyes twinkled and his lips curled up at the sides.

Éiwyn smiled in spite of herself but shook her head. "No, it is nothing like that. At any rate, I came to see how _you_ are doing."

King Éisten sighed heavily and sat back down in his chair. "I fear you know more already than I would care you to."

"The news is all over the hall, father. How much of it is true?"

"What have you heard?"

Shaking her head, Éiwyn pointed her finger at him. "Don't try to play that game with me. I want you to tell me what _you_ know."

"I indulge you too much, you know that." A smile lit King Éisten's face but it faded. "A large orc pack has been attacking settlements on the outskirts of our lands. A village has been burned in the hills, and I've dispatched two companies of soldiers. I'm waiting to hear reports from them."

"And the city?" Éiwyn realized it was a selfish question, but she couldn't help herself. The city was everything she had ever known.

"The gates are barred at night and the watches on the wall have been doubled. I don't know if they would grow bold enough to strike us in our very stronghold. Still, we can't have them roaming unchecked, murdering as they go." He passed a hand over his eyes. "How I wish the company of Thorin Oakenshield would arrive."

"Thorin?" Éiwyn repeated in surprise. "Why?"

Her father dropped his hand, shock clear on his face. "Why? He's killed more orcs than all of my men combined! How can you not know this?"

Éiwyn stumbled to defend herself. "But I only hear of their company traveling to safe lands."

"Safe lands? Every land they visit becomes safe once they slay all the orcs." King Éisten was incredulous as he stared at Éiwyn. "You are daughter of a king and yet you know nothing of other kingdoms? I have given you too much freedom to do as you like and this is the result."

"But someone told me..." Éiwyn trailed off as she remembered her source.

"Told you what?"

"That Thorin's company travels to avoid orcs, so they won't have to fight." Éiwyn heard the folly of her words even as she said them.

"Who told you such nonsense?" Her father looked at her, not just in reproach but as though seeing her for the first time. "Were it not for Thorin Oakenshield and his company, all of the Arthedain would be swarming with orcs. You would do well to remember it."

King Éisten continued to gaze on Éiwyn with a mixture of scolding and dismay. "Did you think their arrivals into our city after orc raids were just happy coincidence?"

Shamed, Éiwyn had no explanation. "I don't know what I thought, Father."

"You did not think. Tomorrow morning, I want you to visit the lore master and have him educate you on Thorin Oakenshield and Erebor. I would hate to have you make such ridiculous comments in Thorin's presence."

A shiver rippled through Éiwyn. "Are you expecting him?"

"He and his company usually take their ease here after clearing out orc nests near our lands. I forbid you from saying a word of this silliness to him. He would find it very offensive."

A knot formed in the pit of Éiwyn's stomach. "I'm sure he would."

The next morning, Éiwyn visited the library to find Olórin, the lore master. She had fallen asleep the night before thinking how right her father was in his scolding of her. She had little idea of any kingdom's history, save her own. Even that she had never had much interest in studying.

Rarely had she been in the library, even during the courses of her own education. Olórin and her several governesses had come to see her in her chambers or her study. In her youth, she had refused to be cooped up with the musty old books. Later, it had simply become a habit that she little thought to break.

She found Olórin seated at a desk, poring over some large document. As Éiwyn crept closer, tiny script in neat lines came into view, with the markings of a map in the middle of the parchment. She didn't have time to determine which lands the map depicted before Olórin noticed her.

"My lady, Éiwyn," he exclaimed as he stood and nodded. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Olórin was an older man with a long gray beard set in two braids. As a child, Éiwyn had always wondered whether he braided them himself, or if he had a wife to do it for him. It occurred to her that she still didn't know the answer.

"My father has sent me to you for remedial education." The older man's eyebrows rose high in curiosity. Éiwyn laughed at herself. "It seems I'm woefully deficient in my knowledge of other kingdoms and their histories."

"Are you indeed?" Olórin peered at her over his spectacles. "It's not for a lack of effort on my part, let me remind you."

"No indeed, father knows my ignorance is entirely of my own doing." Éiwyn smiled at her old teacher, remembering the many hours they had spent together. Although a disinterested pupil at times, Éiwyn was fond of the lore master. When her studies became too tiresome, he would regale her with tall tales of the hillfolk who lived in the Emyn Uial, much to Éiwyn's delight. She scolded herself for not having visited with him more often since her studies ceased.

"Is there any kingdom in particular your father wishes you to become better acquainted with?"

Éiwyn wished he wouldn't have phrased it that way. "Yes, he said something about...Erebor?"

"Ah, Erebor! A rich history. Come with me." Olórin led Éiwyn to an empty desk and pulled back the chair. "Sit, my student." He smiled broadly at her.

Éiwyn did as she was told. She watched as Olórin pulled several books from various shelves and set them before her. He dragged another desk chair over to sit by her side and spoke to her in tones of eager interest.

"I can tell you a brief history of Erebor easily enough, but much more meat lies within these books. These," he gestured to two small stacks, "cover the first nine hundred years of the city as well as the line of kings who ruled it. But this," he picked up a slim volume which he handed to Éiwyn, "describes the more recent upheavals with that people's removal to the Ered Luin."

"Thank you, Olórin." Éiwyn ran her fingers over the embossing on the slim book's cover. Inside, she discovered what amounted to a journal written in neat script. She spent the rest of that day and most of the next engrossed in the story of the sack of Erebor by a dragon and the founding of Thornost in the Ered Luin.

Over the next weeks, she spent her time in the library, either reading the history of Erebor's kings from the large tome or deep in conversation with Olórin. He knew much of history that was not yet written down, information which both thrilled and shamed her. It seemed each day brought her new reasons to set things right with Thorin through a sincere apology. She did not seek nor desire a renewed proposal, but she must make amends for insulting him out of sheer ignorance.

Evening meals were spent with her father, patiently waiting for him to relay whatever information he had on the orc raids. The news continued grim until scouts brought word that Thorin's company had arrived at the outlands at last. It was not many days before they turned the tide of battle and the orcs were defeated.

"Now, my lady, you are in luck." Olórin said to Éiwyn one afternoon. "You may have the privilege of asking your innumerable questions of Thorin Oakenshield himself. Now that the orcs have been destroyed, he and his company will surely take their ease here before they set off again."

Éiwyn gathered all her courage that she might offer the much needed apology. Determined to do it as soon as opportunity presented itself, she anxiously waited for news of Thorin's arrival in Annúminas.

#

Thorin made sure the campfire was roaring and supper well under way before he sat down to rest at last. He leaned back against an obliging tree and sighed heavily. It had been a hard fought battle, but the last of the orcs's nest was finally destroyed and burned.

As Bofur busied himself about with pots and stores of food, Thorin pulled a pipe from his coat. He watched his men prepare to settle down for the evening, double checking now and then to make sure his nephews Fíli and Kíli were among them. It was an old habit but a hard one to break.

Thorin could see how it tore at his sister, Dís, to watch her sons go out to battle so often. She was proud of them, as he was himself, but she worried about losing them. He spent no small amount of time worrying the same thing, if truth were told.

"This nest was larger than the last." Dwalin, Thorin's oldest friend and closest advisor, sat down at Thorin's side. "There's always more, no matter how often we wipe them out."

"I've noticed it too." Thorin pulled deeply on his pipe. "Their numbers must be coming from another, larger source."

Dwalin grunted. "The North, do you think?" Thorin nodded. "Then I say we strike." Dwalin thrust a fist into his open palm. "Take out the whole hive while we still have a chance at it."

"We're too few." Thorin looked out across his company, a band of thirty men from the Ered Luin. Loyal fighters, every one, with stout hearts. But he knew all the men he could muster would not be enough against a full blown orc hive. He had nearly lost everything at Azanulbizar. He would not make that mistake again.

Dwalin grumbled at Thorin's side. "Just the nest raids then, eh?"

"Just the nest raids," Thorin repeated.

Bofur passed out bowls of stew made from a few rabbits Kíli had caught. Fíli brought bowls to Dwalin and Thorin where they sat against the tree.

"Tell me again why we're not traveling on to Annúminas?" Fíli asked them.

"It's too long since we journeyed home." Thorin looked mildly upon his oldest nephew. "Your mother will be anxious to see that you've kept yourself in one piece."

Kíli joined them with stew for himself and his brother. "But we'd not lose more than a day or two to rest at Annúminas. We could sleep in real beds."

"Bathe," Fíli added.

"Make eyes at all the pretty girls." Kíli grinned devilishly at his brother.

"We're not going, and that's final." Thorin's voice was edged with steel, letting the brothers know there would be no point to argue the matter. All three of his companions gave him a quick glance before they turned their attention to their suppers.

Thorin would not go within the gates of Annúminas, not yet. He still felt the fire in Éiwyn's eyes when she raged at him. When she _refused_ him. No, he would not return so soon.

Had he been wrong not to defend himself to her? Should he have convinced her she had been misled? No. He had gone over this in his mind so many times already. She was set against him. Nothing he could have said would have changed her mind or her heart.

His own heart had been like hers, untouched and untouchable, for most of his life. His youth, of course, was filled with idle frivolity but nothing serious. Then the dragon came, driving his people out of Erebor. His kingdom lost, his family broken, he'd had little thought of any one woman and never considered marriage. That was, until four years ago.

His company had just burned an orc nest not far from Lake Evéndim, near Annúminas. Thorin knew they were welcome to take their ease in Annúminas in all such situations, so that was their destination. Despite their victory, they had several wounded among them. The injured men were taken to the healer's hall, where Thorin accompanied them.

Princess Éiwyn, then twenty, was among the healers. She was not a healer herself, but it was a comfort to the men to feel her presence all the same. Thorin watched as she went to each man and soothed him with a damp rag on his forehead or the gentle touch of her hand.

He recalled the moment she became something more vivid in his mind. In making her rounds of the wounded, Éiwyn came to a man who had just passed on to the next world. Thorin guessed it was the first time she had ever seen death. She tenderly closed the man's eyes and wrapped him in his blanket, covering his face. Éiwyn sat at the man's side with her hand pressed to his stilled heart and wept openly for him, a stranger. It had been those innocent tears that first awoke his heart to her.

Over the years, Éiwyn grew more lovely to him. Certainly she was beautiful, but beauty was transient. It was her sweetness of heart that he admired. She did not think herself above the common folk but spoke kindly to regal and lowly alike. She was not afraid to speak her mind. Each visit to Annúminas brought him new appreciation for her.

For years, Thorin was content to store up memories of Éiwyn, thinking never to try to win her heart. It was just as well, for she never took notice of him at all. Then, this Tournament, when her eyes always seemed to seek out his, he thought perhaps he had a chance.

He would freely admit her refusal made him angry at first. Rarely had anyone spoken to him so boldly, and never without a fight afterwards. The unfairness of her impertinent claims was particularly galling, but he had been too unhappy to respond properly. Given time-but a few nights-Thorin came to admire her for her refusal. Not many women would refuse a king's offer of marriage, even a king without a throne. Her angry denial eventually served to endear her to him all the more.

 _Unfortunately, I have not endeared myself to her._


	4. Chapter 4

One year later...

"My lady, it is time." Éiwyn looked up to see a healer come to bid her to the halls where her father lay dying. She wished him away, wished them all away from her sight. How came they to be called healers when they could not heal?

She turned her face away from him but it was no use. Denying it would not make it any less real. On uncertain legs she followed the healer, her body a dull mass of grief.

King Éisten had fallen ill several weeks past. He writhed in agony that could not be touched by the healers' methods and he did not know his own mind. In brief moments of clarity, he called for Éiwyn to sit at his side and bring him comfort. Most of the time, however, he was in too much pain to want companionship, even hers, and all too often he did not know her at all. He would look at her with blank eyes, as if she were a stranger to him.

Now he had reached the end. Despite her continual bargaining with the god of all things, Éiwyn knew her father would receive no special healing. He would pass on to the halls of his fathers.

Éiwyn would be alone.

They came to the chamber where her father lay. Éiwyn went to him, dread filling her bones. She took his hand in hers and stroked the graying hair at his temple. "I'm here, Father."

"Éiwyn." Éisten's voice rasped from his throat, his breathing stilted. "My Éiwyn." Although his face was contorted from the pain that overtook his body, he managed to smile at his child.

"I go to your mother, now." He nodded at Éiwyn as though giving her permission to release him. "I will see Léofwyn again."

Éiwyn's vision blurred as silent tears fell down her face. She clutched at his hand as though she could pull him from his journey to the next world and keep him at her side. "Father, no, please stay with me."

King Éisten smiled again, but it turned to a grimace of agony. "I indulge you too much, but I cannot grant you that." Éiwyn lay her head down upon his breast and sobbed against his neck. "Father."

The sound of his last breath filled her ears and she cried out. Her cries became a scream, and she screamed out her grief until the healers dragged her away from her father's body.

For a time, she knew nothing. Her father was gone, her mother, she had never known. What now was left?

#

Nine months after King Éisten's death, Éiwyn's uncle, now King Gram, hosted a coronation festival. King Éisten had died without heirs, so the kingdom fell to his brother. Gram and his family had descended upon Éiwyn at Annúminas shortly after her father's burial.

Éiwyn was no longer the Precocious Princess-by rights, she was no longer princess at all. King Gram had two daughters and one son who were now the princesses and prince of Annúminas. Éiwyn was simply a lady, as her cousins frequently reminded her.

Reduced from her position and displaced from her home, Éiwyn sought out refuge in the library. She and Olórin often took their afternoon meal together as they lingered over conversations of history, lore, and not a few hill tales. When her eyes grew sad with grief, Olórin found ways to make her laugh again. She looked on him as her last vestige of family, despite being now surrounded by blood relatives.

King Gram and Queen Hild were courteous but disinterested in their niece. Éiwyn's cousins, meanwhile, were frequently over-interested in Éiwyn's doings until she could get no peace. Her solitude in the library was bliss from the tumult in the great hall. Like herself not so long ago, her cousins had no interest in the library unless they wanted something from Éiwyn.

"Lady Éiwyn," her cousin, the Princess Leila, simpered as she swept into the library, "put down your books! You must help me choose a dress for the Coronation Feast tonight."

Éiwyn obliged and closed her book. She let her cousin take her by the hands and lead her through the halls as she wished. Leila was nineteen and every bit as spoiled and indulged as Éiwyn had once been. Sometimes Éiwyn thought Leila was even more so, but she tried to be diplomatic when it came to her young cousins.

Leila chattered on about gowns, jewelry, and feasts as they made their way to her chambers. Éiwyn quenched a stab of jealousy as she entered the rooms that had once been her own.

"Come, I can't decide." Leila stood before two silken dresses, one pale blue, the other deep red. "Which would you choose?"

"For myself, I would choose the blue. But for you," Éiwyn swept the skirt of the red dress towards Leila, "I would choose this. Your skin looks so lovely against the red."

"Oh, thank you, Éiwyn, I knew you would know just what to do. You have so much more experience than I, being so much older." Leila held the blue dress against herself, ignorant of the slight against her cousin, and hummed as she swayed, miming a dance. She smiled sweetly at Éiwyn. "Lord Déor will be at the Coronation Feast."

Éiwyn smiled back at her cousin. Leila's romance with Déor had been the subject of countless conversations over the last months. What did Éiwyn think of this interaction, what did Éiwyn think of that glance-she was asked for her opinion on the matter constantly. For her own peace of mind, Éiwyn hoped Déor and Leila would become betrothed, although the feast seemed an unlikely scenario. She doubted King Gram would appreciate anything that would draw attention away from himself during his own coronation festival.

Leila's door opened and her younger sister, Asta, burst inside. "Guests!" she shouted with wide eyed excitement, "guests are arriving!" Éiwyn followed as the two girls rushed down the staircase, eager to catch a glimpse of the arrivals. The celebration was to be the first event Gram would host as king, and therefore, their first public reception as princesses. At the last moment, the younger girls slowed so as not to be seen running down the stairs.

Éiwyn shook her head and smiled at the novelty of having grand company, a thrill she supposed she had outgrown. In any case, she was no longer included in the reception party. As such, she directed her footsteps to the kitchens. She was greeted by the heat and steam of dozens of pans bubbling away, each one with a smell more inviting than the last.

She sidled up to Thora, who was whipping up a delicious looking confection. Éiwyn smiled broadly at her. "How can I help?"

Relieved of her greeting duties, Éiwyn was free to enter the great hall and find her seat at table at her leisure. In days past, she had longed for such freedom only now to find it unspeakably awkward to be a guest in her own home. However, many friends and acquaintances gave her warm greetings as she passed, which eased her embarrassment.

Éiwyn sought only to enjoy the remainder of her time in Annúminas, however short-lived it may be. She suspected her uncle would not allow her to linger with his family in the great hall much longer. Her aunt and uncle had often hinted that perhaps Éiwyn would be more comfortable elsewhere. Éiwyn, unfortunately, had nowhere else to go.

Éiwyn found her name marker, unsurprised that it was not at the head table. She seated herself and sought amusement by scanning the crowd. Many familiar faces were to be seen, but one in particular made her start. At the opposite side of the room, directly across from her seat, a pair of steel blue eyes looked back at her. For a moment she held their gaze, stunned to see him again. Then she came to her senses and looked down at her plate, at her hands, anywhere but at the man across the room.

It was Thorin. It had been eighteen months since they last parted, and that on bad terms. She had long ago given up waiting for his arrival, for he had not returned to Annúminas in all that time. Now that he was here, she wanted nothing more than to run up to her room and wait there until he left. How could she face him?

 _Those eyes_. Always icy cold to her mind, now they had more reason than ever to show her scorn. Where once she had been a haughty, prideful girl, now she was brought low, dependent on her uncle's generosity. Could Thorin ever forgive the harsh words she had spoken to him? Of course, he could not until she asked for forgiveness. Éiwyn wasn't sure she had the heart for that task.

Finally, everyone took their places and King Gram stood at the head table. "Honored guests, it is my privilege to welcome you here to Annúminas. You have all traveled weary miles-please, let my home be your home, and give you rest.

"Before we begin the festivities, I would ask you all to raise your glass in honor of my dear departed brother, Éisten, now with our fathers." With solemn grace, the room lifted glasses high, Éiwyn among them.

"Now," Gram clapped his hands, a great smile across his face, "let the feast begin."

Servants poured into the hall laden with sumptuous dishes that were utterly lost on Éiwyn. She knew no peace all through dinner. She could not look at Thorin. There was no possibility of conversation across the room, and staring would do nothing to ease her discomfort. What must he think of her? She tried to fix her mind on the conversations at table but failed miserably. Never again did she turn her gaze in his direction.

It was agony.

Despite her firm resolution to apologize to Thorin at the earliest opportunity, Éiwyn quickly scurried up to her room as soon as the feast was finished. She could not bear to stay and be watched by him, as she felt she was continually. It was perhaps her guilty conscience, but she was sure he stared at her without mercy.

The next day, Éiwyn lingered in her chamber, dreading going out among the guests. She knew herself to be ridiculous, for there was no sign that Thorin had any notion of speaking to her again. Yet if that were so, then she must seek him out. She must ask forgiveness, but how could she when the thought of it made her cower in her room? As much as she felt her apology was necessary, bringing herself to face and _speak with_ Thorin felt beyond her abilities.

Convinced she needed time to muster her courage, she practiced her apology again and again in her mind. Each time, it sounded hollow.

Her chamber door was suddenly thrown open without so much as a knock. "Éiwyn!" Princess Leila strode into the room. "I've been looking for you. What are you doing in here?"

Without waiting for an answer, Leila darted the short distance to Éiwyn and took her by the hands. "I have wonderful news! Déor has asked me to be his wife!" She beamed at Éiwyn in obvious pride.

"I'm happy for you." Éiwyn embraced her cousin. "Has your father given his blessing?"

"Oh, Déor hasn't asked him yet. I still need to give Déor _my_ answer." She smiled as though she knew already her cousin would disapprove.

"Leila! That is very wrong of you. You mustn't keep a man waiting for his answer."

"Oh, pooh, what do you know? You've never had an offer."

Guilt stabbed at Éiwyn and she shifted her gaze. "Why do you delay?"

"I want him to prove his love." Leila wandered about the room carelessly, looking at Éiwyn's things with little interest.

"Has he not proved himself in your other interactions?" Their romance was known throughout the hall, for Déor courted her openly. Éiwyn hardly thought there could be a question of his affections or intentions.

"I am no longer just a lady of the Arthedain, I am princess of Annúminas. I must be sure of him."

Éiwyn, herself now just a lady of the Arthedain, had no words of encouragement for her cousin.

"Perhaps I will ask him to challenge someone in open battle." Leila spoke in eager tones, barely concealing her delight in the idea.

Éiwyn gasped. Open battle was a challenge to the death. It was extremely rare and Éiwyn had certainly never heard of such a thing being done at a festival. "Leila, no, that's horrible."

"I know just who I would choose, too. That wooden-sword fellow who skulks about with his dirty band of followers."

Éiwyn looked full on her cousin, astonished at her intentions. "You mean Thorin Oakenshield?"

"Yes, that's the one. He shows me no obeisance."

"He _owes_ you no obeisance."

Leila pouted as she idly flipped the pages of a book that lay on Éiwyn's table. "He doesn't bow to me in the corridors."

"And for that you would send your beloved to his death?" Éiwyn could hardly believe her cousin would conceive of such a thing.

"You have no faith in my Déor?"

"Against Thorin Oakenshield? None at all."

Leila laughed. "He's an old man."

"He is not yet forty and he has killed more orcs than the rest of the men here combined. Do you know nothing? He and his men are the reason our lands are free from orc raids. He is the one who destroyed the orc hive at Azanulbizar."

"He doesn't bow to me!" Leila stamped her foot like a child. "He should bow to a princess, and I am princess!"

"Leila, do not do this." Éiwyn sought to control her own temper as her petulant cousin made a show of her feelings. "You cannot win. Déor's only chance in open battle is if Thorin were to show him mercy. And would you marry a man shown mercy on the battlefield?"

Leila's face went red. "You ruin everything! Why don't you just go home!" She ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Éiwyn sighed as she sat on the edge of her bed. "This _was_ my home."

Looking about the small guest chamber, she contemplated what had become of her life in the last year. She decided she could wait no longer-she would seek out Thorin. Even if he were to refuse to accept her apology, Éiwyn could not feel much lower than she did now.

Down the stairs and through the corridors of the great hall, Éiwyn kept watch for Thorin Oakenshield, but he was not to be seen. Outside in the sunlight, she made her way across the grassy courtyard towards the pavilions set up near the competition fields. As she edged into the shade of the tents, she scanned the crowds within.

He was there. Thorin was not an easy man to miss. He stood, arms folded, his face hard as flint as he watched the competitions that ranged on the fields. Several of his men stood with him and they commented to each other on the proceedings.

Éiwyn's heart began to fail her so she forced her feet to move towards him before they suddenly took her far away of their own will. Thorin noticed her as she wove through the crowd, but he glanced away again. When it was apparent she was making her way to him, he watched her with obvious amazement.

Thorin and his men were a frightening group to approach. The large bald man with the thick black mustache whom she had seen last Tournament stood at Thorin's side, along with an older man with a white beard, and two younger men who were perhaps Éiwyn's age. Each of them was imposing on his own, but together they almost made her falter and turn back.

Éiwyn stood before Thorin, her hands clasped to hide their trembling. She nodded a deep curtsy to him. "My lord."

Thorin nodded his own curtsy, a single duck of his head. Éiwyn could see the question in his eyes.

"May I speak with you?" It was everything she could do to ask him.

He nodded his assent and gestured for her to precede him from the pavilion. Éiwyn did her best to take no notice of the curious looks the others of Thorin's party gave her as she passed. She walked into the grassy courtyard, some distance from the tents although not secluded from their view.

Éiwyn turned to face Thorin. He wore a gray tunic with a high collar and a formal shirt of hammered mail over it. His eyes, questioning and yet imperious, were on her alone. "My lady?"

"My lord, I-when last we spoke-" Éiwyn faltered, for here in the bright sun, the apologies she had rehearsed in her room could not help her. She was utterly unprepared to stand before Thorin. She took a deep breath to steady herself.

"My lord, I owe you a great apology. When last we spoke, I said things to you which were shameful, vile, and untrue. I spoke to you out of ignorance and spite, and I can never apologize enough for such an offense." Éiwyn's words tumbled out, her practiced speech forgotten. "I did not behave as I should have and I said things," Éiwyn blinked hard and shook her head at herself, "which you did not deserve."

Thorin's stern gaze had perhaps softened during her little speech, which only made her falter again and speak lower. "Is it-can you possibly forgive me?"

He looked steadily at her and for a moment she thought he would refuse her, as she had feared. Instead, he spoke to her gently. "It was long ago. You may set your mind at ease."

Éiwyn furrowed her brow, surprised at his response. He gave her a slight smile that just barely altered his features. She smiled, herself, in relief.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her discomfort in his presence must have been clear to Thorin, for he gestured towards the great halls and nodded, as though to release her. She curtsied to him and made her way back into the castle.

Éiwyn breathed a sigh of relief. She had made the apology she had intended to give for more than a year. She should be at peace now. So why then did her heart continue to race?


	5. Chapter 5

Éiwyn's confession to Thorin did much to soothe her anxiety over her past impropriety. She had given apology for the words that had tormented her, as she had long intended to do. Yet her unease about being seen by him in the pavilions or the great halls remained. She lurked in the library much of the next day, in a way that felt like hiding the longer she stayed.

After pacing through the empty library for what felt an age, Éiwyn decided to roam the gardens for a change of scenery. Her steps were slow, strangely weighed down by an unknown agitation. She had not gone far into the courtyard when she caught sight of Thorin Oakenshield himself standing among the roses. He looked up at just that moment. For reasons she wouldn't have been able to explain, Éiwyn instantly turned on her heel. As she tried to flee from his presence, she nearly ran into Olórin and stumbled over her feet.

"My dear lady!" Olórin caught hold of Éiwyn's arm to keep her from falling. "I did not mean to startle you. Are you quite all right?"

Shaken, Éiwyn smoothed the front of her dress for want of anything better to do. She glanced slightly behind her, but stopped herself. "I am fine, thank you, Olórin."

All at once, Thorin was at her side. Olórin nodded and bowed deeply. "My Lord Thorin of Erebor." Olórin's voice held more reverence than Éiwyn had ever heard him use before. "What an honor it is to meet you. I am Olórin, the lore master of Annúminas."

Thorin nodded and smiled at the older man. He then looked to Éiwyn, who shifted on her feet uncomfortably. "Éiwyn. You are trembling. Are you unwell, my lady?"

Éiwyn could only shake her head in response.

"I am afraid I gave her quite a start just now," Olórin told him. The lore master's eyes lit up. "But what a happy coincidence this is! My young pupil here has had a desire to know more of Erebor and the Ered Luin. She has spent the past many months poring over your people's history."

The older man took no notice of the slight shake of her head Éiwyn gave him or the look of alarm on her face. "I can't tell you how many times I've recounted the tale of Azanulbizar and the retaking of Khazad-dûm."

Thorin's eyes never left Éiwyn. "Indeed?"

Her cheeks burned and she could not meet his gaze. How she longed for escape!

"Oh, yes." Olórin was so proud of his young friend, he had no idea how his words embarrassed her. "Her questions for me have no end, and many I cannot answer. Perhaps, if it is not an inconvenience, you might answer some of them for her? I am sure it is a great honor for her to speak to one who witnessed these events firsthand."

"It would be my pleasure." Thorin smiled at Éiwyn, who was more alarmed by his cordiality than she would have been by hostility. Despite his acceptance of her apology, she did not expect them to be on friendly terms.

Thorin gestured towards the gardens she had intended to abandon only moments ago. "Will you walk with me?"

Reluctantly, Éiwyn found her voice, although it was quieter than she might have liked. "Thank you."

"I will leave you in Thorin's hands then." Olórin bowed to them both and walked away, apparently happy with Éiwyn's good fortune.

Éiwyn strolled beside Thorin along the garden path trying to quell her trembling hands. It had been a year and a half since their last walk there, yet the memory of it remained vivid in her mind, undimmed by her apology.

They slowly made their way for some minutes before Thorin broke the silence. "May I offer you my condolences on the loss of your father? I am doubly sorry they are so late in coming."

Éiwyn had not expected such a gesture. The expression on his face reflected only sincerity-not that she had good cause to suspect anything otherwise, she reminded herself. "Thank you."

"How are you faring?"

"I?" Éiwyn was struck by the realization that since her father's burial, no one but Olórin had asked after her. She glanced at Thorin again and looked away. "It hasn't been easy. Everything has changed since Father died."

Thorin nodded, deep in thought. "Your uncle and aunt, do they treat you well?"

"As well as may be expected, I suppose. They have not yet cast me out." Éiwyn tried to laugh, but the sound died in her throat. She knew full well it was a possibility.

"It is difficult, losing your childhood home and your birthright."

"You cannot imagine," Éiwyn sighed.

Thorin looked at her pointedly and gave her a wry smile. "Oh, I think I can."

Éiwyn sucked in a breath. "Oh! I didn't think-forgive me."

Thorin shook his head. "Do not trouble yourself."

Éiwyn groaned at her own stupidity. Why could she not control her tongue? "No, truly, it was thoughtless of me." Her eyes flitted back to Thorin again, thinking for the first time that he, of all people, could understand what she had experienced.

"So, you have taken an interest in my people's history." He said it with the air of a casual observer, but he gave her a sly look. Éiwyn had to dart her eyes away for fear a blush would creep over her.

"Yes, my lord," she said quietly.

"And how do you find it?"

"How?" She looked up at him in amazement that he would ask her opinion of such a thing. "I think it fascinating, my lord, to read of the Line of Durin and the glory of Erebor. And it is sad, what with the..." Her voice faded, unable to speak the rest.

"Dragon," Thorin finished. He watched her, patiently waiting for more of her assessment.

She paused a moment before continuing. "And yet the story remains hopeful, for you and your people have built a new life in the Ered Luin." Why she was lecturing him on his own history was beyond comprehension.

He gave her an almost tender look. "So you have learned, then, that being cast out is not necessarily the end of all things."

Stunned, she had to smile. His words gave her more hope than she had felt in months.

#

Walking at Éiwyn's side in the gardens, Thorin felt as though he were the one needing to ask forgiveness, she was so skittish and shy of him. One moment they spoke easily, the next she would not show her face to him. Was it fear that kept her eyes so often from his, or was it yet distaste? Would he knew the meaning behind her shyness.

They soon made a circle of the gardens with little conversation to show for it. Her penitence was gratifying, but he did not want her to fear him. It would take time to earn her trust and confidence-time he did not have.

His company was long overdue for a return to the Ered Luin. They could not remain at Annúminas even beyond the end of the celebration festival. He would need to regroup, give his men a proper rest at home, and see to the welfare of Thornost. The luxury of remaining in Éiwyn's presence would not be his to enjoy.

They walked together as far as the stables, where Éiwyn took her leave of him. He nodded his goodbye and watched as she dashed away. His friend, Balin, walked up to stand beside him and he also watched Éiwyn as she made her way into the great hall.

"She's a fine lass, is she not?" Balin asked.

"Yes," Thorin admitted, "she is very fine."

"I hope her husband will deserve her."

"Husband?"

"Oh, aye." Balin stroked his long, white beard as he spoke. "I have it on good authority that King Gram is ready to have her bundled off as soon as may be."

"Gram has made arrangements for her?" Thorin asked, his face stern.

"No, laddie, not yet." Balin's eyes twinkled with merriment. "But I'd say any interested parties had better speak up now before Gram marries her off to the highest bidder." Balin clapped Thorin on the shoulder as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

#

Despite her cousin's declarations in Éiwyn's chamber, Déor did not challenge Thorin Oakenshield in open battle. If a betrothal was arranged between Leila and Déor, it had not yet been announced, either in public or private. Éiwyn thought perhaps her cousin might confide in her such news, but then again, Éiwyn was several years older than Leila. They were not close, except on Leila's whims.

On the final day of the festival, Éiwyn was once again to be found in the kitchens. She absently listened to the idle chatter about her as she chopped vegetables for the evening feast.

"I say, my lady, Éiwyn!" She was distracted from her thoughts by a royal page. "King Gram wishes to see you immediately."

"Immediately?" Éiwyn dried her hands and dusted off her dress. She wondered if this would be the much anticipated betrothal announcement, but if so, it hardly seemed to require Éiwyn's presence. Since her uncle's arrival, she had been excluded from all family affairs.

She followed the page through the corridors until they reached the king's study. _My father's study._ Éiwyn forced the thought from her mind-it would do no good to dwell on things that could not be changed.

The page opened the door with a swing of his arm and she stepped inside. She was startled to see that her uncle was deep in conversation with Thorin Oakenshield.

"Ah, my dear Éiwyn." King Gram strode over and took her hands in his. She believed it was the first time he had touched her since the day of his arrival at the great hall.

"I must congratulate you. You are a lucky woman! You have won the favor of Thorin Oakenshield," her uncle turned slightly to face Thorin and nodded deeply, "and you are to be bound to him."

Éiwyn's eyes darted to Thorin, whose gaze betrayed little. He was perhaps sad, perhaps thoughtful. She did not know him well enough to tell the difference.

King Gram's hands squeezed Éiwyn's own rather harder than necessary. "What do you have to say, my dear?" The message was clear-the arrangement was already agreed upon and her uncle would brook no refusals. There was only one thing she could say.

She looked back to Thorin and said quietly, "I thank you, my lord."

The king nodded to the page, who left the room. "This is excellent news for both families involved. The announcement will be made tonight, and you will depart with Thorin and his company in the morning."

"In the morning?" Éiwyn couldn't conceal her alarm. So soon?

King Gram gave her a stern glance but continued on in his facetiously merry fashion. "Thorin's company is anxious to return to their home. Your binding will take place as soon as you reach the Ered Luin."

"Not if my sister has anything to say about it." Thorin remained standing a little distance away with his arms crossed. His stance was proud, but his words were kind. "I am sure Dís will want to plan a proper binding ceremony."

"Oh, yes," Gram said, releasing Éiwyn's hands and waving his own in the air carelessly. "You will be free to do as you like, Thorin. Tonight I will have the honor of announcing your betrothal, we will celebrate, and tomorrow you will be off with my good wishes."

And you will be rid of me, Éiwyn thought bitterly.

Betsy, flushed as though she had been running, was introduced into the study by the page. She bowed to King Gram.

"Ah, good. Éiwyn, this girl is at your disposal to prepare your things for your travels." King Gram gestured towards Betsy with no further comments, putting an end to the entire conversation. As Éiwyn was ushered away, she looked back over her shoulder at Thorin. He nodded solemnly and the door closed behind her.

Éiwyn little noticed the steps that took her to her chamber. She sat on her bed in a daze while Betsy set to work arranging her things.

"Betrothed to Thorin Oakenshield?" she said quietly to herself. "And departing in the morning."

"Aye, my lady," Betsy said as she busily selected the most appropriate dresses for a journey across the hills. Éiwyn barely took note of what Betsy was doing. "It's a great honor. You'll be Lady of Thornost and the most admired woman in all the Ered Luin."

Betsy eyed her former mistress, sitting stunned on the bed, and spoke softly to her. "For all Lord Thorin is a rough seeming man, I've never heard a bad word against him. I'm sure you'll find happiness, my lady."

Éiwyn nodded, unable to say to Betsy anything of what she was thinking.

He hadn't asked her this time. Thorin had gone to her uncle instead, who likely would have made the arrangement regardless of the man who asked. She briefly wondered how little dowry Gram had required of Thorin, but couldn't bear to think of it. In any event, Thorin hadn't declared himself to her. Perhaps he felt he didn't need to a second time. Perhaps there was nothing to declare now.

As for herself, Éiwyn did not yet know what she felt. She had long since ceased to think so poorly of Thorin as she once did, but she had not yet learned to care for him. She admired him for his great deeds in battle, but she certainly did not love him. Yet she was about to be betrothed to him and go to the Blue Mountains to be his wife, perhaps never to return to Annúminas.

How she longed for her father. He never would have arranged a betrothal without her consent. How could Thorin have done it?

"Your things are in order, my lady." Betsy curtsied and then stood before Éiwyn. "May I say, congratulations, my lady. I shall miss you."

Éiwyn smiled faintly at Betsy, whom she had known since she was a girl. "Thank you." Betsy left, closing the door softly behind her.

Éiwyn fell across her bed and burst into tears.

By the time of the feast, Éiwyn had set herself to rights. She wore one of her best dresses, and for the last time, as she would be leaving it behind. Her wardrobe had winnowed since the arrival of the new princesses, but even so, she could not take all her dresses in a horse's pack. The dress was a lovely deep blue silk, which she deemed fitting, as she would journey to the Blue Mountains.

Her long brown hair was pulled up into an elaborate braided bun, also likely for the last time. From all she had read of the Ered Luin, she guessed she would be fending for herself when it came to her hair and dress, which demanded simplicity.

She tried not to think of what would come in the morning, but kept her focus on simply getting through the night. There was nothing else to be done.

At the feast, she and Thorin had places of honor at King Gram's side in anticipation of the betrothal announcement. Every moment, she felt Thorin's eyes upon her, but she was unable to meet them. Despite her apology and his acceptance, Éiwyn did not feel any more comfortable in Thorin's presence. Their imminent betrothal only added to her embarrassment. What would people think of their becoming betrothed and departing within a day? She knew what they would think, and it shamed her.

She was also angry with Thorin, and in no small part. He had bypassed her consent to their binding after she had refused him-how could she not be angry? Her feelings were in tumult. At any one moment she could hardly tell if she were more angry, embarrassed, or sorrowful.

Finally, the moment came. King Gram stood and thanked his guests for joining him at this time of celebration. He gave a lengthy speech about what an honor it was for him to be king and his great love for the Arthedain, which Éiwyn could hardly bear hearing.

"As a last bit of good fortune, I have the pleasure of doubling our joy this night by announcing that my niece, your own Lady Éiwyn, is betrothed to Lord Thorin Oakenshield of the Ered Luin." Gram stood back and gestured for the two to stand amid the cheering revelers.

As they stood to face the crowd, Thorin reached out to her, offering her his hand. Éiwyn took a deep breath and slipped her hand into his.


	6. Chapter 6

Éiwyn could get no rest. She knew she must sleep, for long travels lay before her, but sleep was erratic. Tears fell all through the night as she wept for the home she would leave at dawn.

As Éiwyn lay in bed, she thought she must consider herself lucky, as her uncle had said. He had desired to cast her off as soon as opportunity arose, that much had been plain. Despite the hardness of her own heart, Thorin's declaration to her all those months ago proved to be a small comfort. She might have had it far worse, with no more say than she had now.

Yet Éiwyn's mind was not always so pragmatic. Many times in the night, she thought how dearly she hated Thorin Oakenshield. No matter how admirable his deeds and noble his history, it was wrong of him to go directly to her uncle. She wondered what she might have said had he asked _her_ for her hand again, but could come to no conclusion.

With weary mind and body, Éiwyn dressed while it was yet dark out. Betsy tried to conceal a yawn behind her hand while serving breakfast of hot toast and jam. Éiwyn had no stomach for the meal, but this, too, would be needed for her journey.

Thorin and his men were gathered outside the stables waiting for her in the fading twilight. Try as she might, Éiwyn could not quicken the pace that led her to them.

A stableboy had her horse, Alfrid, at the ready, which brought her some amount of cheer. At least she would have something familiar in strange lands. Someone to talk to, she thought morosely, and almost laughed out loud, in spite of her sorrows.

She had nearly reached the horses when she noticed a small knot of people to the side of the stable. Huddled together stood Olórin, Betsy, Thora, and several other servants. At another time, Éiwyn might have been sent off in grand style as she left home to build a new life. As it was, even her uncle and his family were not present to bid her farewell. Apparently, their good wishes the previous night would have to suffice.

Olórin stepped towards her and clasped her hands in his. "May you be blessed on your journeys, my lady." Éiwyn could not help but embrace him. He seemed startled but smiled blithely at her. "You will not forget your lessons, I hope."

Éiwyn then embraced Betsy and Thora as old friends. Each said to her in turn, "Safe travels, my lady."

Her heart broke over the little party of well-wishers. Tears danced in her eyes as she said, "Thank you all for coming to see me. Farewell."

Thorin lightly took her hand and helped her climb onto Alfrid's saddle. He then mounted his own horse and glanced over to her. Understanding he sought her approval to depart, she nodded resolutely, and he signaled to the others that they were on their way.

The road through Annúminas tore at her heart, for she knew she would never return to call it home. Even if she came back on some future day, the great halls of Annúminas were no longer her own. The sun had just come over the hillside as they passed through the gates of the city. Éiwyn tried to see this as a good omen, but her heart did not feel it.

Whether by accident or design, Éiwyn rode in the middle of their party. If ever Alfrid's pace slowed until they brought up the rear, soon enough a few other horses would also fall behind until Éiwyn was back in place amid the men. She knew the gesture was kindly meant, as offering her protection, but that morning it only served to make her feel she was in a cage.

Thorin pulled his horse back from the head of the company to ride beside her for a time. His frequent glances in her direction were unwelcome. Éiwyn guessed he wanted to see how she was handling her departure and that alone set her on the edge of breaking down. If he spoke to her she would burst into tears, she was sure. Whether he sensed this she could not tell, but he said nothing to her that morning.

Somber as she was, she was yet able to appreciate the stunning view of Lake Evendim, which she had never seen from this vantage. Traveling north along its western shores, the lake glittered like green glass, so bright it was nearly blinding. A few fishing boats were out that morning, a scene she had eagerly watched from the great hall in her earliest memories. The thought of leaving this dear view behind forever stabbed at her, and she turned her face away.

When the company stopped at mid-day for their first rest, Thorin helped Éiwyn dismount from her horse. His hands lightly touched her waist as he slid her down from Alfrid's saddle, but he let her go as soon as her feet were on the ground. He looked at her keenly, then asked in a low voice, "How long are you used to riding?"

"But a few hours, my lord," she admitted.

"We will rest here a while," he announced to the company. Most of the men seemed not to mind, but the bald man she had seen before grumbled his displeasure. Thorin gave him a sharp glance and that was the end of it.

Éiwyn took time to stretch her legs and massage her muscles. She did not like the men to know she was already tired but neither could she continue on without rest. Never had she known that riding a horse could make one so weary.

As she surreptitiously rubbed her sore spots, Thorin approached with two young men beside him.

"My lady, may I introduce my nephews, Fíli and Kíli." He clapped them each on the back in turn, the one had rich blonde hair and a braided mustache, and the other had dark hair worn unadorned. Thorin's eyes sparkled with a joy Éiwyn had not seen there before.

The two nephews bowed low before Éiwyn. "My lady," Fíli said, "it is an honor." Kíli but grinned. Éiwyn smiled at them and nodded her curtsy.

It seemed the whole company was ready to meet their future mistress, and the men lined up to parade past her. She knew she would be utterly unable to keep their names straight, but she repeated them each in turn. Last of all came the gruff bald man with the great black mustache. Among his grumblings, Éiwyn heard something about it being "not right to travel with a woman". All the same, he bowed low before her and introduced himself. "Dwalin."

After their introductions, the men dispersed as they tended their own business. One set about preparing a luncheon while others sourced fresh water. Having never traveled before, Éiwyn was not sure what she should be about. She was relieved from having to determine this by the grace of Balin, a gentle old man with a long, white beard.

"My dear," said Balin as he approached her, "would you sit a while with me? My weary bones are crying out for rest." He smiled so kindly that Éiwyn was at ease with him in a moment.

They sat together in the grass underneath a tall tree and watched the others at their leisure. "Ah, me," Balin said as he relaxed himself against a bedroll, "I am getting too old for these journeys." He stretched his legs in front of him and massaged them much as Éiwyn had done her own.

From the moment she had first seen him, Éiwyn wondered that such an elderly man should be part of a company of orc-hunters. "Then why do you do it, sir?"

Balin chuckled to himself a moment before answering. "Boredom, I suppose, my lady. At home in Thornost, I have a good enough life. But now and then I feel the need to sink my sword into an orc's hide, and Thorin indulges me."

"Does it not worry you? To fight orcs at your..." Éiwyn gestured in his general direction.

"Advanced age?" Balin laughed cheerfully. "No, indeed, lass, no, indeed. Better to die in a fight than asleep in a bed, I say."

Éiwyn twitched her lips in an attempt at a smile but only grimaced, causing Balin to laugh again. "Don't fret about me. In a fight or in a bed, I'm not ready to die just yet."

Fíli and Kíli passed around the afternoon meal. It was but a thick slice of bread and a bit of salted pork, but after riding all morning, it was heavenly. The brothers joined Balin and Éiwyn in the grass and tore into their food. Soon, most of the company had gathered to sit in the cool shade of the tree with them.

Éiwyn listened to their talk with timid interest. She wanted to ask them of life in Thornost but felt too conspicuous to speak. Thorin, she noticed, did not join their party, but sat to the side, seemingly deep in his own thoughts. If Thorin expected her to go to his side, she was not inclined to do so.

After they had all eaten, the men began to pack up their supplies again. Éiwyn saw she was ill suited to long journeys, as she wanted nothing more than to doze in the shade of the tree. As it was, she mounted her horse as the others had done and steeled herself for the afternoon's ride. She was grateful Betsy had the good sense to lay out a simple dress with a plain skirt for riding, as Éiwyn had not had the presence of mind to think of it herself.

Thorin mounted his horse and pulled close to Éiwyn's. He looked to her once again for approval to set off. Éiwyn nodded firmly, which gesture he returned, and the company departed once more.

As Alfrid again settled in to his lumbering gait, Éiwyn wondered what sort of town she would find in Thornost. The little volume from the library had covered the escape from Erebor and some of the founding of Thornost. Past that, she relied on Olórin's stories and what news she could glean at court. Unfortunately, she knew only too well that news at court could be sadly unreliable.

She tried to keep Thorin Oakenshield from her thoughts entirely.

By the time Thorin halted the company where they would rest for the night, Éiwyn was nearly asleep. The lull of the horse's slow pace and the drone of the men's conversations had pleasantly dulled her mind. She battled drowsy eyes for the better part of an hour before they finally stopped.

This time, they made camp with a great fire lit under a canopy of trees. They were still in the foothills of the Emyn Uial and although the day was not cold, the night likely would be.

Éiwyn paced about in an effort to wake her mind as well as her legs. She watched as a man named Bofur set about preparing the evening meal over the fire. He hummed as he worked, a thing which seemed curiously out of place to her.

Bofur glanced up. "Aw, now, you're going to ruin the meal."

Startled, Éiwyn tried to sputter an apology but Bofur interrupted her. "Haven't you heard the old saying about a watched pot?" He winked at her as he coarsely chopped potatoes.

A smile touched Éiwyn's lips. "What are you preparing?"

Bofur gestured for her to join him by the fire. "I hope you like stew, my lady."

"I do, indeed."

"That's good, because you'll be seeing plenty of it before we reach the Ered Luin." Bofur dumped the potatoes into a pot and pulled a few carrots from a sack. "There's potato stew with onions and carrots, carrot stew with potatoes and onions, and occasionally, if you're very lucky, onion stew with carrots and potatoes."

Bofur's good humor was a boon to Éiwyn's spirits. "You have quite the repertoire, sir."

"Oh, you can call me Bofur. I've never been a 'sir' and it's not likely I ever will be."

"He's just being modest." Kíli had approached and clapped Bofur on the back. "His full title is Sir Bofur, the Magnificent and Illustrious Laird of Stews."

"Is that so?" Éiwyn laughed.

"Truly." Kíli placed his hand over his heart. "You will never find a better stew within this camp."

"I believe you, I'm sure."

"I wouldn't recommend that." Kíli's brother, Fíli, was at her side. "Less than half of what Kíli says should be believed."

"My brother would lead you to think that I am untrustworthy," Kíli said, "which is a shame, because now I am forced to tell you that he cannot be trusted."

"Then we are at an impasse, and I will have to take neither of you at your word." Éiwyn laughed at the affected look of shock on Kíli's face.

"You force me to seek a second opinion on my good word," Kíli said, grinning rakishly. "Bofur, between Fíli and I-Fíli, being known to boast and exaggerate and I, being known as quite respectable-between us, which do you think is the more trustworthy?"

Bofur barked out a sharp laugh. "You come for my opinion? Let me see, now, which one of you snuck provisions from the Ered Luin all the way to Annúminas?"

Kíli coughed hard into his fist while Fíli crossed his arms in satisfaction. Unwilling to lose the argument, Kíli said, "This only makes you more trustworthy around _food_."

Kíli turned to Éiwyn to reassure her. "My word is very highly regarded."

"Oh, yes," Fíli said, his voice thick with sarcasm, "highly."

Kíli shrugged his shoulders. "Mostly."

In the middle of stifling her laughter, Éiwyn noticed Thorin watching her. Despite the small smile that played about his mouth, his gaze unsettled her.

When the stew was ready and bowls passed around, Éiwyn found a spot to herself, away from the fire. The simple meal was delicious to her, hungry as she was. Soon, Thorin sat down beside her. She thought perhaps he would speak with her, but he seemed to have nothing to say. The silence between them lingered long after their meals were finished.

Éiwyn wondered at the difference between Thorin and his nephews. Their good natures and hearty laughter could set anyone at ease, while his cold harshness could strike fear in the stoutest heart. She did not expect him to make flowery speeches or fuss over her, yet neither did she expect him to speak so little. If he was waiting for her to speak first, he would have to wait a little longer.

She watched him from the corner of her eye. He did not look at her and seemed to be merely gazing into the fire. Night had fallen but his profile was lit gold by the light of the flames. The dark expression on his face seemed more appropriate to the battlefield than a homely camp.

Thorin's gaze suddenly darted to hers, catching her as she examined him, and she quickly turned her face away. A slight breeze blew up around them, giving Éiwyn a chill. She rubbed her arms briskly and took the opportunity to leave Thorin's side and move closer to the fire.

A cry rang out in the darkness, sending an icy pang through Éiwyn's heart. Eyes wide, she looked to Balin. "What was that?"

Balin smiled serenely at her. "It was just an owl, lass, you may rest easy."

"These lands, are they...could there be orcs about?" She whispered her question, as though speaking the creatures' name would summon them.

Balin opened his mouth to answer but he was interrupted.

"Could be," Dwalin said from across the fire. "We've run across them in the Emyn Uial before. No telling what could be lurking out there."

"Don't frighten her." Thorin's voice was stern in the darkness.

Dwalin shrugged, indifferent to her fright. "It does bring up the question of what we'll do with her if we run across trouble." He glared at her as if she had joined their party of her own volition.

"We'll protect her, of course," Fíli said, nodding at Éiwyn in brave resolve.

"Yes, but can she protect herself?" Dwalin looked to Éiwyn, waiting for an answer. "I don't suppose you can fight at all?"

Éiwyn glanced at the well-armed men all around her and was embarrassed to have to say, "No".

Dwalin grumbled. "I thought as much."

Éiwyn turned back to Balin. "Are women in Thornost trained to fight as men are?"

"Oh, aye. It was a rough road, you see, traveling from Erebor to the Ered Luin. Everyone had to fight in those days."

Dwalin snarled, "Fight or be killed."

"Dwalin." Thorin's word was a warning for his friend. Dwalin shrugged his shoulders again and looked away as though it were no matter to him if Éiwyn fought or was killed.

"I could train you," Fíli offered. He glanced past Éiwyn to Thorin, who must have assented, for Fíli continued. "I could train you to wield a sword."

Dwalin snorted. Fíli glared at him. "Better to die with a sword in hand than nothing at all." Dwalin, it seemed, could not argue the point.

Éiwyn smiled at Fíli and nodded her consent. Fíli looked content with the arrangement. He turned to his brother and in a low voice said, "That's trustworthy for you."

Kíli shoved Fíli hard in the shoulder and both brothers had to stifle laughter. Éiwyn smiled and shook her head at them, herself.

Conversation soon drifted away from orcs and training, and the men's voices buzzed pleasantly in Éiwyn's ear. She listened absently until her eyelids grew heavy and she swayed where she sat.

Thorin's hand on her shoulder startled her awake again. "You are tired, my lady." He offered her his hand to help her up, which she accepted. He led her a few paces from the fire to where he had laid out their bedrolls a small distance apart. The arrangement made Éiwyn uncomfortable, although, under the circumstances, she could not think of a better one.

She lay down on her mat, wrapping a blanket around herself. It was odd, being among strange men out in the wilds, trying to situate herself for rest under the night sky.

Éiwyn glanced up at Thorin, who remained standing. "Goodnight," she said briskly in hopes he would leave her side.

He bowed stiffly and said, "Sleep well."

She heard the crunch of his footsteps as he returned to the campfire and she breathed a sigh of relief, not quite knowing what she feared. Éiwyn fell asleep listening to the men's low conversation about the road home and wondering what she would find there, herself.


	7. Chapter 7

The night of her betrothal to Thorin, Éiwyn had thought a weeks-long journey accompanied only by men would be unbearable. She imagined a never ending slew of rudeness and vulgarity broken up only by harsh words and work. As it actually happened, she could hardly have asked for friendlier or more generous companions, despite the inherent hardships of their endeavor.

Fíli and Kíli were the most energetic about winning her friendship, which they readily did with their mischief and merriment. The brothers were always at the ready with a joke or a tale to tell. Bofur and Balin as well won her heart for their open ways and kind words. Of the company, Dwalin was the least interested in securing Éiwyn's favor. His comments to her stayed just shy of outright insult, but his attitude was ever surly. She suspected she would never gain his acceptance and tried to pay him little mind.

As to Thorin, he was conciliatory but distant. At every start and stop, he looked to her to see how she fared and regularly inquired if her comfort could be at all improved. Although he always seemed to watch after her and frequently sat at her side, few words passed between them.

Despite his brother's claims to the contrary, Fíli was true to his word and began training Éiwyn to use a sword whenever they stopped for rest. The men looked through all their gear to find the smallest sword among them for her to wield. Even that was heavier and sharper than she was entirely comfortable with. She feared she would injure Fíli and was reluctant to use the little sword.

"To begin, let's just work on holding it properly." Fíli patiently demonstrated how to grip the sword. Simply holding it in ready position was more than she was capable of at first, much to the amusement of Dwalin.

Debate ensued among the men as to whether attacking or parrying was the most expedient skill to learn. Some said it was better to get strikes in while you may, but others said it was no good learning to attack if you were stabbed in the process. The mention of stabbing did nothing to soothe Éiwyn's concerns over her training.

With a dramatic flair, Fíli would lunge at her with his sword, and she would try to block him. They moved at an embarrassingly slow speed, but each time she parried his moves she felt a little swell of pride.

As for attacks, at first Éiwyn was unwilling to swing her sword in Fíli's direction, despite his assurances that he could parry her strikes. It took a great deal of convincing, and much talk from Dwalin of how orcs would not beg her to battle, before Éiwyn would practice offensive maneuvers.

After two weeks, she began to move more naturally, although she knew she was not skilled by any means. Their sparring grew to be less of an ordeal to her the longer they practiced, and she came to reluctantly enjoy it.

Éiwyn practiced her attacks under Fíli's cheerful guidance one evening just before the light faded. One particularly wide swing of her sword set Éiwyn's blade against a nearby tree.

"That's the way, lass," came Dwalin's rough voice from behind her. For a moment, Éiwyn thought Dwalin had actually paid her a compliment.

"We'll look to you to provide kindling for our fires." He chuckled, a sound she had grown to dislike, as it was so often directed at her.

Éiwyn looked down in dismay at the little curl of bark she had shaved off the tree before she turned to face Dwalin. "I am trying my best."

"Oh, aye. And if orcs were made of saplings, then I might say you'd stand a chance against one." Dwalin stood in full armor, as ever, his arms crossed roughly as he taunted her.

Fíli stepped forward as though to defend his pupil, but Éiwyn's temper was already high. She took a step towards Dwalin, pointing her sword in his direction although he was still quite far from her. "First you ridicule me because I cannot fight, now you ridicule me because I'm trying to learn. Please tell me, _Master Dwalin_ , just what it is you would have me do and by all means, I will endeavor to do it."

Dwalin stared at her a moment before his laughter rang out loud and hearty. "You're right fiery when you're angry." The wide grin he wore was nearly as disconcerting as his menaces. "Your eyes fair sparked. Oh, I pity Thorin should he ever cross you." He walked away, still chuckling over her outburst.

Éiwyn's mouth dropped open at Dwalin's words. She glanced to Thorin, whose eyes danced with laughter. The way his lips curled up almost made her more angry than Dwalin's ridicule had done. She stormed away, lightly tossing her sword on the ground. As she passed him, Fíli asked in affected innocence, "Shall we call it a night, then?"

Éiwyn sought out Alfrid, for want of anything else to do. She petted and soothed him in an effort to soothe herself. Her anger soon dissipated, although her embarrassment did not. It was bad enough having her pathetic attempts at swordplay be performed before the entire company without Dwalin's derisive commentary.

Leaning against Alfrid, Éiwyn hugged his great neck and sagged against him. She was tired and longed for the comforts of home. If it were hers to choose, she would not learn to fight at all, for she thought she was not at all suited to the task.

Her braid had come undone from sparring with Fíli and wisps of hair fell across her forehead. After sorting through her few things in Alfrid's pack, she found her hairbrush. Although they did not ride at speed, winds in the hills had still whipped her hair into a snarled mess. She brushed until her anger was cooled and she was reasonably satisfied the knots in her hair were untangled and smooth.

When she was finally ready to join the company around the camp fire, Thorin looked up at her and stared. Éiwyn fretted he was perhaps unhappy with her outburst at Dwalin. It was not ladylike, but she had not exactly insulted him. Although Thorin had seemed to laugh along with Dwalin, it was possible she mistook him.

Balin broke the silence. "My lady, if I may say, you are the most beautiful woman in all Beleriand."

Éiwyn laughed at herself. "Certainly in all the Emyn Uial."

"No, my lady, I am in earnest. Were we in Erebor of old, you would be seen as a jewel worthy to be won and cherished."

A blush came over Éiwyn, who was grateful it could not be seen in the firelight.

"You look so like your mother," Balin added wistfully.

Éiwyn's interest was immediate. "You met my mother?"

"Aye, once. It was a great honor. Her hair glowed like the setting sun, and her eyes sparkled like emeralds. But even she, your beauty surpasses."

Éiwyn was pleased by the compliment but even more pleased by Balin's memory of her mother.

"I never knew you to speak such pretty words before, Balin." Thorin looked amused by his friend's speech.

"I never knew such a pretty woman to say them to before." Balin's eyes twinkled at Éiwyn. "I'm only speaking what must be said. I'm too old to be afraid to tell a maiden she is beautiful."

Balin sighed and stretched. "If only we had a few rabbits for the stew," he said absently. He turned to Éiwyn. "Have you ever heard the story of the three brothers who sought to catch a rabbit?"

"I don't believe I have." Éiwyn hugged her knees to her chest and settled in to listen, for Balin had already proven himself to be an excellent storyteller.

"Well, the brothers each very much desired a rabbit. The first, he ran after the rabbit, chasing it here and there, but always it would dash away out of his grasp, eluding him.

"The second brother saw this and thought to try the opposite tactic. He sat still as stone, waiting patiently for the rabbit to jump into his open hands." Balin lifted his hands in mime of the second brother's pose.

"And did it?" Éiwyn asked, as one who knew her duty when listening to a tale.

"Of course not, for no self-respecting rabbit will jump into a man's hands in that way. No, it scampered about him, not knowing the brother even wanted it.

"Now the third brother, he was the wisest. You see, he sought the rabbit slowly, speaking kind and gentle words to it. Little by little he gained its trust until, when the brother finally clasped his hands around the rabbit, why, the rabbit felt she was quite at home."

Éiwyn furrowed her brow. She was sure there was a lesson in the story, but if it had something to do with her argument with Dwalin, she didn't follow.

"And then the brother snapped the rabbit's neck and made a fine stew," Bofur put in.

Éiwyn laughed. "That's a terrible end to such a story."

Kíli shook his head. "Waiting's too slow. I'd use my bow." He mimed shooting an arrow off into the trees.

"A snare," Glóin piped up. "It's the best way to catch a rabbit, even my Gimli knows that and he's just a wee lad."

"You still have to wait with a snare," Kíli pointed out. He pretended to shoot another arrow. "Much quicker."

"Aye, and you'll damage the carcass in the process," Glóin said.

"Not if you shoot it in the eye," Kíli said.

"When have you ever shot a rabbit in the eye?" Fíli wanted to know.

"I have done," Kíli said vaguely. "You weren't there."

"Balin sighed again as the conversation veered entirely away from his story. He shared a knowing glance with Éiwyn before he pulled out his pipe and began to smoke.

Éiwyn looked over at Thorin, whose eyes were still on her. Supposing that if he had something to say to her, he would, she tried to put him out of her mind.

"I suppose you never traveled with a company so eager to outdo each other in their boastings," Glóin said.

Éiwyn's thoughts were wandering and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her. "No, I never have. In fact, I have never traveled at all."

"Not at all?" Glóin asked as he puffed on his pipe.

"No," Éiwyn said. "Father liked me to stay at home. I mean to say, I liked to stay at home, as well. I never gave much thought to leaving."

Glóin watched her as he smoked but made no comment.

"I rode about during the day, of course, and often visited the southern shore of the lake, but...well, I never went far." She trailed off uncertainly. Her desire to stay at home had always seemed natural, but now, surrounded by men who were always far from home, she suddenly thought herself naive.

"I would imagine your father liked to keep you close because of your mother," Balin said gently.

Éiwyn smiled at him and said softly, "I expect so."

Fíli gave Éiwyn a curious look but asked no question.

"My mother fell ill when I was a baby," she told Fíli, "and she died quickly. There was nothing that could have been done, my father said, but...well, I don't think he ever got over it."

"I can't think what I would do without my Nara," Glóin remarked.

Éiwyn had not meant to bring down the company's spirits. She tried to think of a lively story she might tell, but was little inclined to do so, herself. Her father's grief over the loss of her mother had been a constant all her life. He bore it well but could not entirely conceal how it pained him. She hoped her father and mother were reunited now in the next world.

No longer interested in conversation, Éiwyn took her leave of the men and set to arrange her bedroll for sleep. Thorin approached and sat down near her. His voice was low, but she heard him perfectly.

"This is not how I would bring you to my halls. You deserve a proper procession befitting a princess, not riding in the wild with a rough company of men as escort." The bitterness in his voice made plain how keenly he had thought of this.

In truth, Éiwyn had longed for a female companion more than once. Even so, she had never traveled in state and could not strictly say she regretted it. His concern touched her. Shaking her head in dismissal, she said, "I am not troubled."

He watched her a long moment. "I have not gone about this in the right way, I know that. An arranged betrothal, immediate removal, a journey through the wilds alone-" Although speaking low, his voice had grown harsh and he stopped himself.

"In Annúminas, I said my sister would plan our binding ceremony," he said.

His words sent shards of fear through Éiwyn. Although she knew it to be so, it had not yet reached her heart that she would be Thorin's wife. He remained a stern figure of stone in her mind-being bound to him seemed hardly possible. He was trying to soften his ways with her, but still she resisted him.

"Dís will plan nothing without your consent," Thorin said, his eyes fixed on her. "I will not have you bound to me unless it is by your own will."

"Éiwyn had little idea he would grant her such a freedom. "Thank you, my lord," she said, hardly masking her surprise.

In a defeated voice, Thorin said, "That you would thank me for such common decency says much, Éiwyn." Unsure if Thorin was more disappointed with her or himself, she did not reply.

"I have been selfish, but I am not cruel." His voice became more gentle as he said, "You have nothing to fear in me, Éiwyn."

He looked at her another moment before he gestured to her sleeping mat. "I will leave you to your rest." Thorin stood and moved to step closer to the fire.

On impulse, Éiwyn quietly called after him. "Goodnight."

He stopped mid-stride and turned to her. A faint smile touched his lips as he echoed, "Goodnight." She watched him make his way to the fire and sit down among the men.

Éiwyn lay down on her bedroll, her face turned away from the fire. She closed her eyes, Thorin's words echoing in her mind.

 _You have nothing to fear in me._

If only she could convince her heart.


	8. Chapter 8

The Blue Mountains came into view long before the company reached the foothills. Éiwyn had grown up at the base of the Emyn Uial and thought them magnificent, but the Ered Luin were true mountains. They loomed large over the horizon, spreading as far as the eye could see to north and south, their craggy peaks capped with snow. It was obvious how the range earned its name, as they seemed to have been painted all shades of blue, from brightest azure to darkest steel.

The history books she had read came back to her mind and she imagined what it must have been like as Thorin and his people made their way to the Ered Luin for the first time. Did it look like home to them when they first caught sight of those mountains that seemed to go on forever? Or did the people find them imposing and wish for a place more inviting?

Thorin had only been nineteen then and she tried, without success, to imagine him in his youth. What he might have been twenty years ago, she could not guess. She wondered if he had ever been afraid, or if he had somehow been born steeled to the world.

No, she reminded herself, of course he had not. That came only through hardship, the dragon being but a part. Some ten years after their removal to the Ered Luin, Thorin and his father led their army to the Misty Mountains in an attempt to cleanse the great stronghold of Khazad-dûm from an orc hive. Although Thorin turned the tide of battle and his people emerged victorious, they did not rebuild the city. A few years later, his father, Thráin, went on a journey from which he never returned. Amid all this, Thorin was looked to as the leader of his people. He had all the responsibilities of a king with none of the recognition outside his own walls.

Éiwyn watched him as they rode ever on towards the mountains. For all he claimed once of not being a formal man, his bearing betrayed his nobility. She guessed it was a thing he couldn't help, for he was born to be king. That his kingdom was lost could not alter his blood.

She was still absorbed in contemplation of Thorin when he turned and caught her looking. Éiwyn started and looked away, suddenly embarrassed and yet awed to be the object of such a man's heart. For the first time, she felt his affections to be a compliment, despite her own heart's silence.

Between the Emyn Uial and the Ered Luin lay a long stretch of grassy plains which the company made their way through as they followed the river Lhûn north. While the men made camp one evening, Éiwyn wandered slowly among the tall grasses, running her hands over the tops of the thin blades as they swayed in the breeze. She startled a herd of rabbits, which leapt about in all directions in their haste to escape and were quickly out of sight again in the thick grass.

Kíli crept up near her, crouched low as he slowly followed after them. "I'm on it," he whispered, his bow drawn, an arrow nocked and at the ready.

"Oh, no, don't," Éiwyn pleaded. "Let them be."

Thorin laughed softly, the sound almost a growl in his throat. "Balin, you have ruined rabbit stew for her."

"That was not quite the lesson I meant to impart," Balin grumbled as he eyed Thorin.

"I know what it was you meant to impart," Thorin said, gazing steadily at his old friend.

"It's so peaceful here," Éiwyn said, "I hate to kill them."

"Not me," Bofur said as he assessed their provisions. "I wouldn't mind a little rabbit for the last of our journey."

"The last? Will we be there soon?" Éiwyn asked Thorin.

"Aye. You will see Thornost tomorrow."

Éiwyn's excitement at the prospect was tempered by trepidation as she thought of the halls that awaited her. She walked to the flowing river and sat among the rocks at its edge. On the brink of an unknown future, she found herself wishing their journey would continue a little longer before they arrived in Thornost.

Home, she reminded herself.

Thorin joined her at the riverside and he, too, leaned against a rock to watch the current as it splashed and bubbled past them. The river was wide but shallow and Éiwyn could see Glóin not far upstream catching fish with the net he had brought for that express purpose. Since they had reached the Lhûn, Glóin's fishing had added welcome variety to their meals.

As he had often done on their journey, Thorin sat alongside her, apparently content to remain in silence. It was possible he guessed she was troubled and wished her to speak, but what could she say? She wanted to ask what she would find in Thornost, what sort of life she would have there. What sort of life she would have with _him_.

He had said not to fear, but Éiwyn could not yet confide such things in Thorin.

She attempted to smile as she fixed her gaze on the river. "I almost think I will miss this journey." It was as much truth as she could bring herself to say. Thorin glanced at her and she felt he understood more of what was left unsaid than she wished.

"I think you will like Thornost," he said. "Perhaps even more than the road." He gave her a knowing smile before turning his attention back to the river.

She had expected him to resent her nervousness about their arrival. That he sought to reassure her at all worked to set her mind at ease. Although Thorin had a hardness about him, Éiwyn could not ignore the gentleness he showed to her.

They sat in silence, watching the river flow by, until the smell of supper in Bofur's kettle drew Éiwyn to the campfire. He had not been overstating things when he told her she would see plenty of stew before the journey's end. Their fare was simple by necessity and she wouldn't have complained for the world, but she often found herself daydreaming of bread and cream.

#

As Thorin had predicted, shouts of happy laughter rang out among the men the next morning. They had climbed a small rise and stood before a wide valley of the mountain range, through which the silver river Lhûn flowed. At the base of the mountains sat a city surrounded by a great wall.

The valley was lush and green, painted with yellow, pink, and blue wildflowers. Éiwyn had always heard that the Blue Mountains were a cold, hard place, but this was the picture of warmth and welcome. She could hardly believe this was Thornost.

"What do you think of it?" Thorin was close by and watched her take in the city with eager eyes.

"It's beautiful," Éiwyn breathed. She looked at Thorin in utter happiness. "How do you ever leave it?"

"I've had my reasons."

The company increased their speed for the last leg of the journey, knowing they would be home in time for supper. As they rode across the valley, horns rang out within the city and the gates of the wall were opened wide. Dozens of people poured into the opening in their eagerness to catch sight of loved ones returning home after long months abroad.

Éiwyn dismounted and Thorin led her to where a woman with dark hair hugged Kíli for all she was worth. As she held Kíli's face to scan it for injuries, Thorin caught her eye and she gave him a hearty hug as well.

"Dís," Thorin said, "this is Éiwyn of Annúminas." He cleared his throat before adding, "We are betrothed." Dís's eyes turned quickly to Éiwyn at this announcement, but she betrayed her surprise in nothing else. Dís looked between them for a moment as though assessing the situation.

"Éiwyn, may I introduce my sister, the Lady Dís." The two women bowed to each other and exchanged greetings.

"Well, then, welcome to Thornost." Dís had a kind voice and warm smile. "Come, let's get you settled." As Dís led her away towards the halls, Éiwyn glanced back at Thorin. He nodded once before she could no longer see him in the crowd.

Thornost was not what Éiwyn had thought it would be. A city only twenty years old and belonging to a fallen people, she thought to find a ramshackle knot of half-completed buildings. Instead, she discovered a vibrant city of sturdy wooden houses and shops set in neat lanes. The great hall stood in the very center, constructed of steel-blue stone from the mountains. As she gazed at it rising above the city, it struck her as a most fitting home for Thorin Oakenshield.

Dís eyed her knowingly as Éiwyn marveled all around her. "It's not quite what you expected, is it?" Éiwyn shook her head in wonder.

"We've worked hard to rebuild since Erebor." Dís was obviously proud of their city in the mountains. "We have a great many skilled craftsmen among us, of all kinds. Stone, wood, metal, fabrics-there is nothing our hands cannot build."

"It's all so beautiful," Éiwyn said as they passed through the outer doors of the great hall, which were carved with the same sigil Thorin bore on the scabbards of his sword and daggers.

Once inside, the great hall gave the impression it had been carved into the very mountain itself. Cunning windows were cut into the high walls and ceilings which flooded the hall with light. Four large tables sat at one end of the room, with what might have been a throne beyond. The great hall was perhaps more rustic than the halls at Annúminas, but it suited the city well.

Dís ushered Éiwyn through the corridors and into a bedchamber with a large fireplace and a small window that looked out across Thornost and into the valley. Éiwyn could not have asked for a more comfortable room or a better view.

"Take your ease here. I'll have your horse's saddlebags brought to you," Dís told her. She looked Éiwyn over head to toe. "I'd imagine you've not had a proper bath since Annúminas, either. I'll send some girls up to fill your tub."

"Thank you. My last bath was in the river." Too late, she wondered if she should not say such things to the Lady of Thornost.

Unperturbed, Dís nodded understanding. "That's traveling with men for you. You're lucky to have bathed at all, as much thought as they give to it. I must say, I was not expecting Thorin to return with a young woman at his side."

Éiwyn did not trust herself to answer as Dís watched her. She tried to smile but merely pursed her lips. Dís's expression relaxed as she said gently, "Well, you are here now, and I am at your disposal, whatever you may need. I shall be happy to get to know you better, Éiwyn."

With one last glance, Dís left the room. Éiwyn went to the window and looked out over the wildflower fields. In the far distance, all that could be seen were the grassy plains which the company had traveled over that morning. Part of the town ranged below her and she could see people moving to and fro in the lanes. This was not at all the dreary village she had feared back in Annúminas.

She did not have long to wait before there was a quick rap on the door and a line of young girls carrying jugs of water made their way to the large wooden tub in the corner of the room. The last girl to arrive carried Alfrid's saddlebags that held the whole of Éiwyn's possessions. They bobbed curtsies on their way out and Éiwyn latched the door behind them.

She closed the screens that separated the necessary portion of the room from the bedchamber, slipped out of her dress and shift, and lowered herself into the tub. The warm water was heavenly after so long without a good bath. A fresh bar of soap lay on a little tray near the tub, so Éiwyn put it to good use. By the time she finished scrubbing her body and thoroughly washing out her hair, a layer of silty dirt lined the bottom of the tub. The ashy smell of campfire still lingered in her hair, but she had done her best to diminish it.

She wrapped a fresh bath sheet around herself and examined the dresses she had in reserve. Éiwyn had never been extravagant in her dress in Annúminas, but neither had she ever had so little at her disposal. In the end, she chose a simple linen dress that seemed most in line with those of the women she had seen in Thornost. Then she braided her hair straight down her back and considered herself as ready as she could be.

Not knowing whether she should wait for a summons to supper, Éiwyn stepped slowly from her room. As she walked down the corridor, she gazed at the tapestries that hung heavily over the stone walls. One in particular fixed her interest. It was a tableau of a battle where many gruesome images of orcs lay dead beside a mountain. Over a pale orc's body stood a woven image of what was surely Thorin, the famous oak branch shield in one hand, his sword held high in the other. She looked at the tapestry-Thorin for some time before she realized the real Thorin stood at the end of the corridor watching her.

He approached and viewed the image alongside her, but said nothing.

"Is this Azanulbizar?" she asked in a small voice.

"Yes," came his only reply.

She turned to gaze at him, studying him in the same manner she had done the tapestry. He was not an old man, but hard years and weary battles had taken their toll. Small, thin scars she had never noticed before were evident in his face, and streaks of white highlighted his long, dark locks.

His voice came soft and slow. "I would not speak of war, or battles, or orcs, with you, Éiwyn." She understood he meant it not as an admonishment for her curiosity but as an explanation for his silence. He had seen so much death, she had no wish to add to his pain by asking him to speak of it.

"Will you join me in the great hall for supper?" Thorin offered her his arm, which she took lightly. They had so rarely touched, it seemed to her a sacred thing to maintain.

The great hall was lit by a roaring fire and candles that danced everywhere. People milled about the grand tables that were set at one end of the room. The conversation dropped to low tones as Thorin and Éiwyn entered arm in arm. Then the hall broke out in cheers of welcome.

Thorin smiled and waved them off before he led Éiwyn to a table where several friends from their journey were seated. They enjoyed a merry meal, punctuated by lively tales from Fíli and Kíli, much to their mother's delight. Dís had questions for everyone, especially Éiwyn.

"Did the men look after you well, Éiwyn, or do I need to retrain them in how to treat a lady?" Dís smiled but gave her sons stern glances, as though ready to follow through on her threat if need be.

Éiwyn's eyes darted to Thorin and back to his sister. "I was treated well, my lady."

Kíli made rakish eyes at a girl seated at another table. "I fear my sons are not fit for company," Dís said as she glared meaningfully at her youngest. Seeing he had been caught, Kíli sat bolt upright and winked at his mother.

Éiwyn barely contained her laughter at Kíli's antics. "I assure you, they were good and proper."

Dís seemed not to believe this, for she knew her sons well. "If they were good and proper in your presence, I shall be very happy to have you here so that I may see this miracle for myself."

"It's hardly fair to include me in your scolding of Kíli," Fíli said. "Lady Éiwyn will tell you I have been instructing her in how to use a sword."

"Has he now?" Dís asked Éiwyn. "And how do you get on?"

"Not at all, my lady. I am as clumsy with a sword today as I was when I first held one, although that is no fault of Fíli's instruction."

"You can hardly expect more from three weeks' time," Thorin said.

"I think there were some among our company who would disagree," Éiwyn said with a meaningful glance in Dwalin's direction.

"Some among our company have little idea how to soften their ways for a lady," Thorin said, much to Éiwyn's surprise. He gave her a wry look. "Perhaps many of us have not."

"Again, I hardly think I should be included among them," Fíli said.

"Excluding you, of course, nephew," Thorin said with only a tinge of sarcasm. "Your manners are impeccable."

"And mine?" Kíli asked.

"As I say, Fíli's manners are impeccable."

Not to be outdone by his brother, Kíli proceeded to provide his mother a lengthy list of evidences of his excellent behavior, much to the amusement of those of the company. Finally, he appealed to Éiwyn. "What is your opinion, my lady?"

"I saw nothing in your behavior that was worthy of censure."

"High praise, indeed," Thorin said softly, a droll smile about his lips.

"There you have it," Kíli said as he threw his hands in the air, "I'm a perfect gentleman." This set the men to laughing again, much to his chagrin.

Satisfied by the hearty meal and cheered by the warm welcome she had received, Éiwyn soon grew drowsy. She excused herself from the table but was accompanied by Thorin, who wished to see her to her room.

"I'm not entirely sure I would have found my way," she admitted as they walked the darkened corridors. Finally, they passed the tapestry of Azanulbizar and Thorin gestured to her door.

Éiwyn thought to wish him goodnight when he gently took her hand in his. He bowed low to her and said in a voice barely above a rumble in his throat, "Welcome to Thornost, and my home, Éiwyn."

She could only watch him as he slowly let her fingers slip from his hand.

His mouth just barely formed a smile. "Good night, my lady."


	9. Chapter 9

After weeks of travel, it was a comfort beyond measure to sleep in a real bed again. Éiwyn woke with a sense of peace and refreshment she had not known since before her father died. The warm welcome by the people of Thornost, and Dís especially, worked to clear away the worry Éiwyn still carried about her removal to the Ered Luin.

In the great hall she nearly cried for joy to find a breakfast of scones with fresh cream and jam. It seemed to her the finest meal she had eaten in her life. She was glad not many were at table to witness her devour her scones in fewer bites than was entirely ladylike. She had just eaten the last crumbs off her plate when Dís joined her.

"Good morning," Dís said as she sat down across from Éiwyn. "I hope you slept well."

"Very well, I thank you."

"Good. If you're up for it, I thought I might show you the city."

Éiwyn enthusiastically nodded her agreement.

They spent all that first day roaming Thornost and making Éiwyn acquainted with her new home. She quickly learned to find her way around Thorin's halls, as the layout was fairly simple. The city, however, would take some getting used to before she would be able to seek out any particular building with confidence.

Within the walls of the city were hundreds of sturdy wooden houses and dozens of shops and markets. Éiwyn saw signs for a tailor, a leather-works, a seamstress, a toy maker, and seemingly innumerable smithies. Thornost contained a mine entrance carved into the mountainside, from which they produced vast amounts of iron. They were well known for their ironworks, and weapons from Thornost were sought out all through Beleriand and the Arthedain.

"We're not nearly so grand as Annúminas," Dís said as they strolled about town, "but we get on well enough. There is little you may desire that you cannot find within our walls. Anything lacking we can get from outside trade, although that may take half a year or more."

"I'm sure there is nothing I need," Éiwyn said, more out of politeness than outright truth.

Dís gave Éiwyn a frank look. "You can't have brought all your necessities in a horse's pack."

Dís had the same steel-blue eyes as Thorin, but where Éiwyn thought his were often icy, hers shone with warmth. Yet she wore a sternness about her features just as Thorin did, and possessed the same regal carriage. Éiwyn wondered that she, herself, did not seem to have those noble graces, despite having been a royal of Annúminas nearly her entire life.

Although she was gracious and open, Dís asked Éiwyn nothing of her betrothal to Thorin, nor was the binding ceremony mentioned. Éiwyn guessed there was much Dís might ask of her, but was too polite to do so. Perhaps Thorin had spoken with Dís privately and explained everything. Then again, Thorin hardly seemed like a man who explained everything to anyone.

After ranging all over the city until Éiwyn's mind was awhirl with buildings and lanes, Dís showed her to the stables. "I believe you have a friend here," Dís said jovially.

"Alfrid!" Éiwyn rushed to her horse's stall. She rubbed Alfrid's soft muzzle and stroked his shaggy black mane as though it had been weeks since she'd last seen him rather than only hours.

"I can't help but take that as a bit of an insult." Éiwyn looked up to see Kíli walking towards Alfrid's stall.

"I'm afraid I didn't notice you there," Éiwyn said as she continued to stroke her horse's neck.

Kíli shook his head dismissively. "Nah. Don't pay any mind to the man whose deadly aim with a bow likely saved your life countless times on our journey. That's no bother."

"You saved her life countless times, did you?" Dís asked as only a skeptical mother who has heard more than a few tall tales can.

"As far as we know, yeah." Kíli grinned at them impishly.

"May I ask what you're doing in the stables, or will you just tell me more nonsense?" Dís's voice was stern but she looked at her son with obvious affection.

"I came for this, actually." Kíli leaned over the low wall of Alfrid's stall to take his bridle down from its peg. "Thorin asked me to repair it. One of the straps is worn, see?"

He held the bridle out for the women to inspect. There was in fact a worn section, although Éiwyn had not noticed it before.

Surprised Thorin had seen such a small thing, she said, "Oh-tell him thank you."

"Tell _him_ thank you?" Kíli repeated. "I am the one going to repair it."

Éiwyn laughed. "Then I thank _you_ as well."

"Get along, then, to your repairs." Dís waved him away and Kíli quickly nodded to each of them before fairly running out of the stables.

Dís watched Éiwyn nuzzling Alfrid and raised one quizzical eyebrow. "I don't suppose you want to ride him today?" The pained expression on Éiwyn's face caused Dís to chuckle, and soon they were both laughing at the idea.

"Good gracious, no," Éiwyn said, "I'd rather not sit in a saddle again for a few months, to tell you the truth."

Dís patted her on the back consolingly. "Come up to the kitchen, I have a salve for that." The women burst into laughter again as they made their way to the great hall.

The kitchens in Thorin's halls were not so large as those in Annúminas, but Éiwyn found them just as welcoming. While Dís searched through the apothecary's cupboard, Éiwyn roamed among the stoves, delighting in the aromas as she went. Two cooks were busy at work chopping vegetables for the evening's supper and Éiwyn offered them her assistance.

"Not today," Dís said, pulling her gently away before she could be taken up on the offer.

"I don't mind helping."

"And we won't mind accepting your help, I'm sure," Dís said. "But for your first few days here, at least, you must let me treat you as the honored guest that you are. I cannot have it be said I put my brother's bride to work on her first day in the city."

Anxiety rippled through Éiwyn's chest at the word 'bride', and she tried to soothe her nervous heart. _You have nothing to fear._

Dís led Éiwyn down a long corridor of the great hall, watching her as they walked. "To tell the truth, I'm a little surprised the former princess of Annúminas would make herself at home in the kitchens."

"I made myself of use all through the great hall," Éiwyn said. "Well, how _useful_ I made myself was sometimes up for debate. But I enjoyed keeping occupied." Éiwyn smiled sheepishly thinking how dismayed her father would have been over such a conversation.

"Well, at least Thorin had the good sense to choose a young woman willing to put herself to work. We've all of us had to work hard to get where we are, never mind where we came from. I'm not saying we'll put you to work in the mines," Dís said with a laugh, "but we're not a people prone to idleness."

"I understand." Éiwyn had not left Annúminas expecting to be spoiled and coddled in Thorin's halls. The squalor she had anticipated was pleasantly nonexistent, but even so, she hardly expected to sit idly and be waited on every day.

"I'll leave you here," Dís told her. Éiwyn realized they were standing before the door to her own chamber. "All of this talk of work aside, I want you to think of yourself as our guest, at least for a week while you settle in." She watched Éiwyn critically as though unsure her request would be obeyed. "You have had a long journey and deserve to rest, starting now. Take your ease a while before supper, I'm sure you need it after all you've been through."

Dís started to walk away before she turned back and handed Éiwyn the little jar of salve. "You may need this, too." Dís winked and strode away down the corridor.

Éiwyn laughed softly to herself, grateful for Dís's forthright nature amid the confusion of her new situation. As instructed, she attempted to lounge about her chamber. She passed some time gazing out the little window, watching people of Thornost going about their business below. Wishing she had thought to include a book or two in Alfrid's pack, Éiwyn lay across her bed and sighed.

Although she had tried not to dwell on thoughts of her future, the floodgates of worry opened in her idleness. What would life be like as Thorin's wife? She could imagine herself as Lady of Thornost easily enough, working among the industrious town folk as Dís did. It was not an unpleasant picture, for the people seemed friendly and eager to please, but when she tried to imagine standing at Thorin's side among them, the little dream faded.

He was not an ogre, she knew. But her opinion of him had varied so much over the years, she hardly knew what to think. That he was willing to wait for their binding until she was ready was a comfort, and yet she could not expect him to wait indefinitely. They would be bound eventually.

Sleep briefly overtook her and when she woke, she felt sure it was time to prepare herself for supper. She had just finished braiding her hair when there came two hard raps on her chamber door. Checking herself quickly in the little mirror on her wall, she smoothed the last stray wisps of hair with her hands.

Éiwyn opened her door to find Thorin standing in the corridor.

She gave a small bow in an attempt to conceal her start of surprise at finding him in her doorway. "Good evening, my lord."

Over the weeks of their journey, she had grown used to seeing Thorin in traveling clothes and light armor. Yet this evening he stood before her in a brilliant blue tunic open at the collar with a short vest elaborately embroidered in silver. She felt somehow smaller than usual wearing only a gray linen dress with no ornamentation. Nothing Alfrid had carried from Annúminas in his pack compared to the finery Thorin wore.

He nodded and gave her a smile that just barely altered his features. She thought perhaps it was his short beard which made it so difficult for her to discern the more subtle of his smiles, and found herself relying on his eyes to determine his mood. On rare occasions he smiled so wide his eyes crinkled at the corners, but those smiles were nearly impossible to mistake, unlike the one he now wore.

"Good evening, Éiwyn. I hope I am not disturbing you."

"No, not at all. I was only making myself ready for supper." Éiwyn unconsciously smoothed her hair again as she thought how plain she must seem compared to him.

"You always look lovely, Éiwyn."

She was both pleased and embarrassed by his praise. Thorin's compliments were rare, which made her all the more conscious of herself when he gave them. She willed herself not to blush but knew she had no power over it.

He ducked his head slightly as though to draw her gaze back to his own. "I have something for you. May I give you a gift?"

"A gift?" Éiwyn's brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Why? Hmm." Thorin's blue eyes lit up with amusement. "Must I have a good reason to present you a gift?"

She smiled awkwardly at his merriment over the oddity of her question. "Of course you may give me a gift, if you like." She had never been courted and was unused to such attentions, nor had she expected them from Thorin.

"I do, in fact, have a good reason to give you this gift," he said. He stood with his hands clasped, one inside the other, and he looked at her with an almost tentative happiness.

"In Erebor, it was my people's custom to give the bride a token of betrothal. The token was a necklace with a single jewel on it, to signify that she was the jewel of the man's heart. I would like to give you this." He opened his hand and there, cupped in his palm, was a delicate silver chain with a single gem upon it. The stone was of sky blue that shone and danced in the candlelight.

"It's wonderful." She moved closer as she gazed at the pretty stone sparkling in his palm.

"I am glad you think so." He held it up before her. "May I?"

She nodded and turned around that he might place the chain about her neck. As he clasped it, his fingers lightly brushed the nape of her neck, causing her to shiver. His hands stopped a moment but then quickly secured the necklace. She turned to face him again and Thorin admired the effect of the little gem.

"I have never seen such a stone before," she said as she reached up to feel the coolness of it with one fingertip. "Is it from the mountain?"

"Yes," Thorin said, "but not the one you are thinking of. It is from the Lonely Mountain, from a relic that belonged to my mother long ago. I chose a blue stone to signify the Ered Luin. My past and my future, all in one."

Thorin cast a gaze on her so full of meaning that Éiwyn felt her cheeks burn again.

"Thank you, my lord."

He gave her a pointed look. "Will you not call me Thorin?"

Although she had previously considered calling him by his name, it somehow seemed too intimate. The distance between them made the title appropriate, although she could never tell him so. Instead, she gave him a crooked smile and said, "I'll try."

"I can ask for no more." His eyes twinkled as he looked at her, that same small smile on his face suddenly seeming mischievous. Perhaps she had thought wrong when she determined Thorin to be nothing like his nephews after all.

"May I escort you into the hall for supper?"

She carefully took his offered arm and they walked the corridor together. They came to a tapestry she had not noticed before and she stopped, utterly taken with it. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. It depicted a large stone archway stitched in silver-white strands of thread. Trees grew about the sides of the arch and stars were set inside it. The archway shimmered in the candlelight and Éiwyn almost reached out to assure herself it was made of cloth and not starlight.

"What is this?"

"These are the Doors of Durin," Thorin answered. "They are the western gate to Khazad-dûm."

Apart from the battle of Azanulbizar, she knew little of the history of Khazad-dûm. All she knew was that it was an ancient stronghold in the Misty Mountains, once the home of Durin, Thorin's ancestor and king of legends. If the entrance were so incredible, she wondered what a sight the rest of the city must have been. It was little wonder he and his father had sought to reclaim it.

They continued through the corridor at a slow pace as she examined more tapestries, each more lovely and intricate than the last. "Did these tapestries come from Erebor?" she asked as they gazed on an elaborately threaded design of a great axe that stood taller than herself.

"No," Thorin said, his voice grave. "Those were left behind or destroyed. No, these were wrought here."

"I have never seen anything to rival these." The beauty of the tapestries in Thorin's halls put those she knew in Annúminas to shame.

"Then I will have to take you to the weaving rooms some day."

He led her into the great hall where Fíli and Kíli lounged at table. They sat up properly when Thorin and Éiwyn entered and nodded their greetings. When Dís greeted Éiwyn, her gaze fell on the necklace with the single stone. Dís smiled to see it and embraced her as a sister. Despite such a show of affection, Éiwyn grew self-conscious, as though her betrothal was now more official than it had been before. Somehow, wearing Thorin's gift made her feel conspicuous, yet she did not quite desire to remove it.

She reached up and lightly touched it, this little gem that represented her place in Thorin's heart. It pleased and distressed her by turns. When Thorin came to feel love for her, she could not guess. When she would come to feel love for him seemed an equal mystery.

After supper, Thorin escorted Éiwyn to her room as he had done the previous evening. Once again, he took her hand in his as he bid her goodnight. This time, she had the presence of mind to say "Goodnight" in return before he cast one last glance at her and strode away down the corridor.

Shutting herself into her chamber, she quickly changed into her nightdress and blew out the candle at her bedside. As the smoke from the wick spun upwards into the air, Éiwyn climbed into bed and snuggled down into the soft blankets. Before she fell asleep, she reached up and curled one finger around the smooth little stone about her neck.


	10. Chapter 10

Éiwyn honored Dís's request that she conduct herself as a guest during her first week in Thornost. She explored all through the great hall, never tiring of admiring the tapestries that hung there or the intricate carvings in the stone walls. As she grew more comfortable finding her way, she ranged farther afield in her walks and eventually discovered a thriving orchard which proved as good for wandering in as any sculptured rose garden.

She walked beside the outer wall of the great hall, her hand trailing along the cool stone slabs. Down the steps at the rear of the halls were the great kitchen gardens, and in the distance beyond them stood the orchard. She followed the little paths laid out between the vegetable beds, taking in the fresh green shoots that seemed to burst from the rich earth everywhere she looked.

She came across a woman kneeling in a row, thinning the tender lettuces planted there into a work basket. The woman looked up at her approach and quickly broke into a broad smile.

"Good morning," she said. "Might you possibly be the lady Éiwyn?"

Éiwyn nodded and the woman stood up. "I'm Fern." She bowed a curtsy, which Éiwyn returned. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Fern knelt back down in the garden but looked up and smiled again at Éiwyn. This was all the encouragement Éiwyn needed, so she knelt on the path opposite Fern.

"Can I help you at all?" It had been exactly a week, after all. Dís could not object to such an offer now.

Fern nodded. "If you like." She gestured down the long patch of lettuces. "I'm doing some thinning this morning and I wouldn't mind another pair of hands."

Éiwyn set to work pulling the thin lettuce shoots and setting them in Fern's basket. Fern looked to be some years older than Éiwyn, with dark, curly hair pulled back from her face and light eyes that watched Éiwyn with unabashed curiosity.

"I wasn't expecting to see you so soon," Fern said as she worked. "I thought perhaps you'd still be resting in the great hall after your journey."

"I've rested a week and that seems more than enough for me," Éiwyn said. She watched as Fern carefully plucked out the smallest lettuces, and sought to make her own section appear just as tidy. "It's time I find a way to busy myself, beyond just getting lost in the lanes."

"Well, I'm glad to have you busy yourself with me. There's always something to do in the gardens, and the more hands, the lighter the work."

"Are you in the gardens every day?"

"Oh, nearly so." Fern moved her basket as she shifted a little farther along the row. "There's plenty of days where the weather's too grim to be out in it, but I'm here just about every other."

The repetition of pulling out green shoots served to relax Éiwyn's mind even more than her days of leisure had done. It felt good to have something to be about, even if it was simply helping another at her tasks. Too much of her last week had been spent pondering her situation, to agonizing effect.

"Well, bless me!"

Éiwyn looked up to see Bofur standing at the head of the lettuce row, hands on his hips in apparent astonishment. In all their travels, she had rarely seen him without the distinctive hat he wore, and then for only the briefest of glimpses. His hair had become a great mystery to her, as few others in the company wore hats at all, let alone with such dedication as he did. It turned out he wore his thick mass of dark hair set in four loose braids that somehow suited him spectacularly well.

"If it isn't my lady Éiwyn," he said, a wide grin on his face as he bowed low. His gaze moved past Éiwyn and he bowed again. "And Miss Fern, it's a pleasure to see you, too."

Fern smiled sweetly but continued on with her work. Éiwyn walked over to Bofur, brushing the dirt off her hands as she went.

"A nice day to be in the gardens," he said conversationally to Éiwyn. "If you ever have a question about things that grow, my lady, you can't go wrong following Miss Fern's advice. She can make anything thrive and blossom, no matter the weather or the plant."

"I'll remember that," she said.

Bofur remained smiling, his eyes on Fern, far longer than he seemed to realize.

"How have you been, Bofur?" Éiwyn inquired politely.

"Oh, me? I've been keeping myself busy however I can, my lady. I've been helping my brother out at the alehouse most days, but my evenings have been sadly lacking in company." His gaze returned to Fern, whose eyes darted up to his while her fingers flew among the lettuces. She flashed him a smile which set Bofur to grinning again.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Éiwyn said.

"Oh, sure, Bombur runs the alehouse, don't you know. He's not much of a fighter and he's not well suited to travels with the company." Bofur held his arms in a great circle about his waist. Then he laughed and scratched his chin whiskers. "Nor am I, I suppose, now it comes down to it. I'm more of a homebody, myself."

His gaze had returned to Fern, who did not look at him but smiled to herself while she worked. Éiwyn felt strangely unnecessary to the conversation but had no idea if she should excuse herself from it. Fern kept on plucking the crowded lettuce shoots while Bofur gazed in a happy stupor.

After another minute, Bofur shook himself. "I suppose I'd best be on my way, then."

"Did you need something, Bofur?" Éiwyn asked.

"Yes, of course, I surely did." Bofur glanced around as though unsure what that might have been. He snapped his fingers. "That's right, I was on my way to the herb garden. Bombur sent me after a few things and it slipped my mind. Funny, that. Good to see you again, my lady. Miss Fern."

Fern cast one last glance at Bofur before he turned and strode away. Éiwyn said nothing about the exchange, but she noticed that Fern smiled merrily all morning as they worked together. When she left for her noon meal, Éiwyn arranged to meet with Fern again the next day, as there were plenty of vegetables in need of thinning.

After a quick bite to eat, she set to work in the kitchens. She sidled up to the cooks, who for the most part were only too happy to dole out tasks. Éiwyn smiled merrily, herself, as she started kneading bread dough. She was feeling quite at home when Dís entered the kitchens.

Dís smiled and shook her head. "I might have known," she said. "One week to the day." She took a bowl of dough for herself and the two women kneaded the evening's bread side by side.

"What else have you got up to today?" Dís wanted to know. So Éiwyn told her of meeting Fern in the gardens and their efforts there that morning. Dís smiled warmly and said, "Welcome to Thornost, my dear."

#

Despite abstaining from work during her first week in the city, Éiwyn resumed her sword training with Fíli just after their arrival. They met privately in a large practice room full of straw dummies, targets, and weapons of all shapes, sizes, and makes. Fíli outfitted Éiwyn with light mail and gave her a dull practice sword for their sparring.

"It's quite small," she said, testing the weight of it.

"Yes, well, it is used to train children." Fíli coughed to cover his laughter, but Éiwyn was not deceived.

"At what age do children begin their training, then?"

"As soon as they can pick up a sword."

Fíli paid little mind to Éiwyn's open-mouthed stare as he found a practice sword appropriate for his purposes. He walked to the center of the room and motioned for her to follow.

"Ready?" he asked. Éiwyn nodded and they began to spar.

Fíli's skill in swordplay was matched by his patience as a teacher. He never grew irritable with her nor spoke out in anger, no matter how often she made the same mistakes or how quickly she tired. He was affable but kept her focused on the task at hand. He seemed to see their lessons as an enjoyable exercise for himself, as well as doing his duty by her.

As Éiwyn's hands and arms grew stronger, she was able to wield the sword better and for longer spans of time. Sparring was still difficult for her, as she could not yet predict Fíli's moves nor position her sword in time to parry his attacks. He tried to ease her frustrations with words of encouragement, but she knew herself to be a slow student.

Practice against the dummies, however, was rather more enjoyable. Fíli showed her a variety of strikes and thrusts which she put to good use against the burlap forms. She performed moves as he called them out, hacking at the dummy as best she could. Part of her knew it was poor sport to prefer fighting an opponent that couldn't fight back, but she enjoyed moving through the exercises all the same.

"You need more confidence when you attack." Fíli gestured for her to take a break from their sparring. "Put your whole heart in it."

"I am." Éiwyn rubbed her sore arms as proof. She sat down on a bench against the wall of the practice room, trying to catch her breath.

Fíli examined her with a critical eye as he seated himself next to her. "No, you're not. I can see that you're holding back. It's just practice, Éiwyn, you won't hurt me."

"I might," she said with as much hopefulness as she could muster.

"Hmm, you _might_ , I'll concede that," he said, his mouth twitching into a grin. "Although I think it's unlikely when you won't fight with everything you have."

The sparring sessions were exhausting enough as they were. Éiwyn had no idea how she could fight any harder than she already did. She pursed her lips, distressed that all the might she had was apparently still too little.

"If you don't put everything in it, you won't have a chance against an enemy. They'll find your weakness." Fíli filled mugs of water and handed one to Éiwyn, which she took gratefully.

"What if my weakness _is_ my weakness?" It was an attempt at levity, but Fíli answered her in earnest.

"You're not weak, you just need practice. Everyone does."

"I suppose what I mean is, I don't know if I could actually face an orc." Her voice was quiet as she spoke doubts she had carried since first picking up a sword on the road to the Ered Luin. She had consented to training as a last resort in case the worst were to occur, but she had little confidence in her courage if such a thing should truly happen.

"You don't know what you're capable of until you're in the moment, Éiwyn." Fíli drank deeply from his mug and sank back against the wall.

"What _is_ it like?" she asked in a hushed voice. "In the moment?"

He glanced over at her and then looked away as though debating whether or not he should answer. He worked his jaw, seemingly deep in thought.

"Nothing really prepares you for it," he said, still not meeting her curious gaze. "That's why you don't know what you'll do until it comes. You train and practice and block yourself off to the fear until the first time you face an orc. Then the fear crashes over you, and that's the moment-you give in to the fear and turn back, or you run headlong into the fight."

Fíli turned to face her again. "I've never seen anyone give in to the fear."

Éiwyn tried to imagine herself running headlong towards something she feared, but she couldn't do it. All she could do was hope that she would find her courage when it was needed.

#

The first weeks after their arrival, Thorin was kept busy assessing his army and taking stock of the armory. Unknown previously to Éiwyn, his was not the only company from Thornost that regularly traveled the western lands, killing any orcs they found and destroying nests. Thorin had much to do in overseeing both his army and his city. Title or no, Thorin was looked to as the implicit ruler of Thornost. Widely revered for his valor in battle, his opinion was sought and followed in all manner of business.

As their days were busy, Thorin and Éiwyn often only saw each other at the evening meal. After the feast to welcome them home, suppers were simpler affairs. Generally it was just the family, but Balin or Dwalin sometimes joined them. Gaps in conversation were usually filled by Kíli's ready tongue, so Éiwyn and Thorin had scarcely had any opportunity for conversation at all.

Thorin normally escorted Éiwyn back to her room following supper. He would ask about her day or inquire after her comfort, but these talks were brief. Éiwyn found it awkward to linger in the corridors with him at night, and took her leave of him as soon as they reached her chamber door.

Her days fell into a pattern of working in the gardens in the cool of the morning with Fern, and helping out in the kitchens in the afternoons. Although she was not strictly toiling, her days were more wearying than she had been used to in Annúminas. Most evenings she would stroll through the orchard before retiring to the great hall to prepare herself for supper.

Éiwyn had just ventured into the orchard one afternoon when she saw Thorin apparently examining an apple tree. He turned to her and for a moment they stared at one another as of old. She could not help but laugh that they would meet there, of all places. Rather than make her escape as she had often done before, she approached Thorin and smiled shyly at him.

"I did not know you enjoyed the orchards, my lord."

"I was only waiting for you." His voice was rich and deep. "I have rarely been out here of my own accord."

His frankness caught her off guard. "Waiting for me?" She derived a strange sense of pleasure from this admission.

Thorin gestured into the orchards. "I thought we might walk for a while. It is a fine afternoon."

They strolled under the low canopy of fruit trees which were covered in pink and white flowers that filled the air with the heady aroma of apple blossoms. She imagined what a sight the orchard would be in autumn, dense with ripened fruit.

"I am afraid I have not had much time to spend with you since our arrival." Thorin walked with his hands clasped behind his back, glancing at her now and then. "I have been occupied, but I will reform."

"Truly, that's not necessary." Éiwyn's words were out of her mouth before she had thought them through. Thorin gave her a sly look from under one arched eyebrow. "Oh, no, that is not what I mean, of course," she stammered. "I know that you have much to do. I only meant to say that I have not been offended."

"Hmm," he grumbled in his chest. "I have much to amend, then, if my absence is not offensive to you."

Éiwyn's heart leaped inwardly at this response. He seemed playful, yet entirely sincere. His steel blue eyes gazed into hers and if she were not mistaken, she thought she saw unease there.

"How do you find your room?"

Éiwyn had to smile at his question. He had asked it of her more than once over the weeks, but she knew he was only trying to look after her well being.

"I like my room very well," she answered. "I could never grow tired of the view." She looked out upon the fields with fresh wonder each morning. Her view at Annúminas had included the great Lake Evéndim, which she had always considered lovely, but her heart had been won by the sprawling expanse of wildflowers that lay at Thornost's feet.

"I am glad to hear it." He gave her another sideways glance as though assessing her. "You are finding ways to keep yourself occupied, I imagine."

"Oh, yes," she laughed, "although I am not sure that everyone appreciates it." He gave her a quizzical look and she hurried to explain. "Lindy, in the kitchens, seems to dislike my help. I am not sure she trusts me."

"Perhaps she has heard of your disdain for rabbit stew." His mouth turned up in a mischievous smile.

"You are laughing at me?" She tried to give him a stern look but could not contain her own grin. "I have said not one word against rabbit stew. Anything she has heard must have come from _you_."

He smiled at her retort, but his face quickly fell again. They walked in silence a few moments before Thorin asked, "Are you happy here, Éiwyn?" His words bore only the tone of one inquiring after another, but she feared them as an accusation. Why did everything he might say or do make her heart race so?

"I am happy, my lord." Compelled to defend her declaration, Éiwyn rattled off a list of proofs. "It is more beautiful in the Ered Luin than I had ever imagined. I am glad to have found a friend in Dís. And, although I have never been a particularly good student, I am learning to use a sword from Fíli."

They continued walking side by side, not looking at one another for a time. Thorin must have been as aware as she was that he had not been included among her reasons for happiness in Thornost. She frowned, embarrassed by her comments, but what could she say? And yet, as they strolled together in silence, she began to regret her omission. Thorin was trying to be a friend to her and his ways with her were gentle. When she thought of all the times he had demonstrated his concern for her, Éiwyn knew she must remedy her careless words.

"I am happy here with you, my lord."

He watched her a moment, but she did not meet his eyes. "Do you say this of your own mind, or because you think I wish it?"

"Both, my lord." Her gaze was on one of the silver beads that bound his braids. So often had she examined the beads rather than meet his eyes, she knew the markings engraved there by heart.

Thorin sighed heavily and spoke as though with reluctance. "You are not bound to me, yet, Éiwyn. I will honor custom in our betrothal. If you should choose to be released, I will return you to Annúminas." She looked up at him in bewilderment. "You only need tell me."

She was surprised how much the thought of leaving Thornost wrenched at her heart. She looked on it as her home, though she had lived there but a few weeks. However, she knew this was not what he was asking her. _Did_ she want to be released from their betrothal? She was yet in awe of him, but respect and admiration were beginning to give way to a timid sort of affection. She was not ready to be bound to him, but neither did she entirely wish to be parted from him.

"I'd like to stay," she said quietly.

Thorin crooked his index finger under her chin and gently lifted her face to meet his gaze. "I have seen you shout at one of my fiercest warriors, yet you speak so timidly to me? I have much to amend."


	11. Chapter 11

Éiwyn entered the practice room one afternoon to find not just Fíli, but Kíli there as well. The two were sparring with dull swords, their blades flying as each attempted to get a hit on the other. She watched from the doorway as they moved carelessly about the room, lunging and parrying as they went.

"Do you surrender?" Kíli asked with a wide grin.

"Not in this age, little brother." Their swords made a musical sound with every connection.

"Come, surrender," Kíli encouraged, "I love the sound of victory."

Fíli noticed Éiwyn as he parried Kíli's strikes. "Hello," he called, his attention barely diverted as he continued on with the mock battle.

Kíli turned to Éiwyn and danced lightly to one side, bowing low to her. "My lady." Fíli took the opportunity to thump him across the back, ending their sparring session. Kíli glared at his brother.

"Did you hear that?" Fíli asked, one hand cupped behind his ear. "I think it was the sound of victory."

"I couldn't hear it over the sound of my gentlemanly attentions to Lady Éiwyn." Kíli bowed again with a flourish for good measure.

"I am afraid I cost you your match," Éiwyn said.

"Not to worry, Fíli needs all the advantage he can get," Kíli said as he crossed the room to her side. "How would you like to learn to use a bow, my lady?"

"Is my ability with a sword so poor that your brother is casting me off upon you already?" she laughed.

"No, of course not," Kíli said. "I simply thought it couldn't hurt to add another weapon to your arsenal." Fíli grinned behind his hand, arousing her suspicion.

"Was this Thorin's idea?" Éiwyn asked, little believing it was.

"Well, he wasn't against it."

She cast Kíli a doubtful look.

"All right, he doesn't know, but he could only approve of you adding to your skills." Kíli's earnest expression was reasonably convincing, but Éiwyn suspected something more was at play.

"Why do you really wish to train me?"

Kíli gave Éiwyn a well-practiced look of innocence but Fíli barked out a laugh. She raised one eyebrow, waiting.

Kíli groaned and said, "I may have made a slight wager with Dwalin."

"A wager?" she repeated. "With _Dwalin_? What is the wager?"

"I said I could train you faster than Fíli is doing."

"And?" She scowled and placed her hands on her hips in her best impression of Dís.

He sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. "I said I could get you to shoot dead center in a month."

Her mouth dropped open. "A month? How much is the wager?"

"Fifteen gold coins."

She shook her head at the ridiculousness of such a boast. "It seems it would be easier to just give him the gold now and be done with it."

"No, no," Kíli said, stepping closer to her again in apparent desperation. "You have to at least try. Let me train you. There can be no harm in trying." He clasped his hands like a little boy begging for a toy.

Éiwyn couldn't help but smile at him in spite of her exasperation. His charm was difficult to resist. "I suppose it couldn't hurt to try," she agreed. Kíli grinned at Fíli in momentary triumph. "But you can't be angry with me in a month when Dwalin wants his gold."

Kíli found an appropriately sized bow for her use and a single arrow. He demonstrated the proper stance, how to hold the bow, and position the arrow, all the while telling her how to aim and that she must keep her focus. Running to the end of the room, he set up a target and then ran back to her side.

"Would it not be better to do this outside?" she asked. It hardly seemed appropriate for a novice to shoot arrows indoors.

"No," Kíli said, "let's wait until you have a few tries at it here, first."

"You don't want Dwalin to see," she said. He looked guilty and she knew she was right. Although, once she thought about it, she didn't particularly want Dwalin to see, either.

"Go on, then, give it a try." Kíli waved towards the target.

"Wait," Fíli said, rushing to the store of mail and padding. He returned with an arm bracer. "Put this on first. You don't want a nasty welt on your arm from a bad release." Éiwyn held out her left arm and he quickly strapped on the bracer.

"Good thinking," Kíli whispered to him. He stepped away from Éiwyn and motioned for her to proceed. "All right, now. Give it a try."

Why she was going along with this was beyond her understanding, but she would try, for Kíli's sake. She raised the bow to shoulder level and pulled back the nocked arrow as he had shown her. Taking a deep breath, she loosed the arrow. It sailed through the air and skittered across the stone floor several feet short of the target. Kíli's brow furrowed comically as he scowled at the arrow.

"Well," Fíli said calmly, "you might want to pull back a bit more, I would think."

"You could tell Dwalin the wager was a poor idea," Éiwyn suggested hopefully.

"No," Kíli said, his confidence returning as he fetched the arrow. "It was just your first go. Have another try."

Éiwyn did try, again and again, until her arms could no longer take the effort. Keeping aim on the target was surprisingly difficult when one had no idea at all how to shoot. When her arrow finally struck the target at the very edge of the outermost red ring, Kíli whooped as though she had hit center and Fíli applauded her achievement.

As she removed the arm bracer, Kíli rushed about setting the practice room to rights. "I think this is going well," he said, sounding more optimistic than he looked. "You'll learn faster than you think."

"Yes, or you will learn not to make wagers on which you cannot follow through," she said. Kíli was so good natured, she hardly liked to let him down, but neither did she expect to become a master of archery within a month's time.

"It won't happen again," he said solemnly. "On my honor."

"On your _gold_ , more like." She laughed at the little look of consternation that crossed his face.

"Oh, one thing," Fíli said to her before they left the practice room, "best not to mention the wager to Thorin."

Éiwyn sighed at this. She disliked the idea of actively keeping a secret from Thorin, whatever the subject. It seemed something he would discover eventually and the thought of disappointing him was dismaying.

#

A week of archery training flew by, with moderate improvements in Éiwyn's aim. Although she still regularly missed the target entirely, her arrows found their mark equally as often. The first time she hit the second red ring, Kíli leapt into the air for joy. She was pleased at her progress, but could not share in his boundless optimism. Her skills would need to improve tenfold if she were to be sure of hitting dead center for Dwalin.

With her additional instruction in the practice room, Éiwyn's days were more hectic than they had been, but even so, she usually found time for her customary stroll. She had just left the orchards one afternoon when she saw Thorin standing near the doors of the great hall. He seemed to have been watching for her and walked down the steps to meet her as she crossed into the kitchen gardens.

"How do the orchards fare today?" he asked as soon as he had greeted her.

She smiled that he knew her habits so well. "Lovely, as ever," she said. "The trees are still covered with blossoms. Which you can, of course, see from here," she added with a grimace at the obviousness of her remark.

He looked past her to the stand of trees she had just departed. "It's always good to have a first-hand report," he said. She could tell he was amused, which pleased her. His good humor was more apparent each day and it seemed a wonder she had never recognized it before.

Gesturing towards the great hall, he apparently meant to return alongside her. The footpaths in the vegetable garden were not wide, so they walked close together out of necessity. Her gait was oddly stiff in her effort not to jostle against him in the narrow dirt path.

He gave her a knowing glance. "And how goes your archery training?"

She looked up at him in surprise. "I didn't know Kíli told you of that."

"He didn't. I recognize the signs," he said with a pointed look. "You have been massaging your left arm more than is usual." She had not even realized she was rubbing her arm in an effort to relieve the ever present ache she had developed from holding the bow. "I have seen you moving your right shoulder in an odd way, and this I noticed last night at supper."

Stopping to face her in the path, he took her right hand into his and turned her palm up. Éiwyn's first three fingers had red callouses forming in the crease where they held the bow string. Thorin lightly stroked the red marks with his fingertips, sending ripples of nervous excitement through her. "Kíli should have you wear a glove to protect your fingers."

His eyes flashed as he let go her hand and took up the arm she had been massaging. He moved her shirt sleeve lightly from her forearm to check the flesh there and seemed relieved to find no welt. "At least he had the sense to give you a bracer."

"Fíli thought of it, actually," she said in a voice that was surprisingly unsteady.

"Now it all becomes clear." He smiled slightly, her arm still held in his hands. His fingers moved imperceptibly on her exposed skin. It was not quite a caress, but the warmth of his touch made her heart tumble all the same. The longer they lingered so, the more embarrassed Éiwyn became. Although the kitchen gardens were not crowded like the lanes of the city, she could see people at their work close by and more than one had already cast glances in their direction.

Slowly, she pulled her arm back through his fingers. He did not resist but let her draw herself away. She gave him a half-hearted smile in an effort to convey that she did not mean offense. He seemed not to take any and slowly began to walk the path again.

"I hope I have your approval to learn to shoot," she said.

"Of course," he said, seemingly unconcerned, "you are free to do as you please. I trust Fíli and Kíli to train you." He appeared to rethink his statement. "I trust them not to bring you to harm, at any rate. Do you enjoy yourself?"

"I do," she told him. "It is rather more satisfying than practicing with the sword."

"How so?"

She paused as she thought the question over. "I suppose hitting the target seems more of an achievement than sparring with Fíli. I can spar with him for what feels an age and not know if I have accomplished anything, but when I shoot at the target I know immediately if I have hit my mark or not."

He nodded understanding. "You prefer measurable progress. And I suspect you are more comfortable hitting the target than Fíli."

She furrowed her brow at this assessment. He was not wrong, but it still distressed her. What good would the training do her if she could not face an actual, moving enemy? She did not want to do so, but was that not the point of it all?

He watched her as they left the gardens and began to climb the steps that led to the great hall. "This is a different sort of life for you than what you knew in Annúminas."

It was not a question but a plain statement of fact. Even so, she thought his words bore a touch of regret. "It is not so very different," she said.

"You would not have trained to fight or worked alongside the common folk in Annúminas."

"I _did_ work alongside the common folk, if you will remember." The day when he caught her making up the bed in his guest chamber came vividly to her mind. It had vexed her that he seemed not to know her, despite their repeated interactions. How little she had understood him. How little she could have anticipated, then, all that was to come.

"I remember," he said in much the same amused tone of voice he had used with her that day. "But you chose to do that out of kindness, not necessity."

"Would you have me sit idly?" She shook her head, vexed anew. "I saw how my cousins lived, content to be waited on and admired at court. I could not abide such a life. There's far more satisfaction in doing for yourself than there is in having all done for you."

He smiled slightly and inclined his head, apparently conceding the point. She was collecting her thoughts to further convince him when Dwalin approached. He was slightly less intimidating at home, now that he was not covered in mail and armed to the teeth. Even so, his grimace did not exactly invite friendly conversation.

"Thorin," he said, his eyes moving from his leader to her and back, "I need a word." Thorin raised his eyebrows in a silent question and Dwalin simply nodded. Whatever unspoken communication they shared, it was immediately understood.

"I am afraid I must take my leave of you," he said to Éiwyn with a quick bow. She nodded as he and Dwalin strode quickly away into the great hall. Although his demeanor gave away little, she thought nothing he and Dwalin must discuss with such urgency could be good news.

#

"What is it?" Thorin asked as he and Dwalin walked towards his council chambers.

"Orc raids in the Emyn Uial." Dwalin's voice was thick with his disgust for the creatures.

"Annúminas?"

"Safe so far, but its outer villages are under attack. Gram's messenger asks for aid in cleansing the nest that must surely be out there."

"How many orcs are they dealing with?"

"They say maybe two hundred."

Two hundred would make quick work of smaller villages and was enough to march on the gates of Annúminas if they got it into their heads. There was no time to spare. "How many men do we have at the ready?"

"I'd say one hundred fifty could leave immediately, a few hundred more if we had another day or two to prepare."

"We don't. Send the one hundred fifty as soon as they are assembled."

Dwalin nodded and quickly strode from the room. Thorin sat down heavily in his chair. _Two hundred orcs_. Each nest they uncovered seemed to have greater numbers than the last. A full orc hive was almost certainly established, but where, no one yet knew.

After Azanulbizar, Thorin and his men were looked on as experts at wiping out orcs, and so they sought to be. Everyone within his walls was trained in combat, ready to fight as needed. His companies' travels through the west seeking nests were an attempt to prevent the establishment of another orc hive. In that respect, it seemed, they had failed, for surely the orcs' large numbers could only come from such a source.

They had failed in another way, unforeseen by Thorin. The western countries relied on Thornost's men too readily. They were content to protect their own city gates but seek Thorin's help as soon as trouble arose on their borders. He did not deny his allies when they called for aid but thought it unwise on their part. Too often, Thorin led his company into a skirmish with soldiers who were too few and too ill-prepared for what lay before them. Yet the protection of the west was the protection of them all. Thorin would not allow the orcs to gain a foothold simply because other kings were irresponsible.

 _Other kings_. Thorin was not a king. His birthright had been Erebor, and Erebor had fallen. Would he have been any different from King Gram if he sat on the throne of Erebor? Gram and the other kings of the west only looked to maintaining what was already in their grasp, while Thorin and his people had to start anew, scratching out a life in the Ered Luin. He would like to think he would have been a different sort of king, but the question troubled him.


	12. Chapter 12

Thorin's hammer rang out in his forge as he labored over construction of a battle axe. When finished, it would be light enough to take on long journeys but sturdy enough to easily hew through orc armor. He had been home nearly two months, and in that time had steadily added to his store of weaponry. Thornost's armory was well stocked, but he felt strongest when he wielded weapons that had been forged by his own hands. He knew their strengths and weaknesses better than weapons made by any other.

The orc pack in the Emyn Uial still weighed heavily on his mind. He had every confidence the one hundred fifty warriors he dispatched had already engaged them and wiped out whatever nests they found. It was the sheer size of the orc force that was concerning. He had not seen such numbers amassed as one since Azanulbizar. Something was brewing, and it could only lead to war.

Content with his progress for the morning, he doused the axe and left it to cool. After pulling off the thick leather apron that he wore while he worked, he splashed his face and hands in a basin of water. He then slipped into a fresh shirt and tunic, and stepped into the lane. Although it was warm out, the fresh air was a relief from the stifling heat of the forge and he drew in long, deep breaths. He headed towards his halls, intent to take a rest and perhaps find a bite to eat in the kitchens.

As he made his way to the doors of the great hall, something in the distance caught his eye. From the top of the steps, the valley sprawled out below him. Far beyond the outer wall of the city was someone walking due east, alone in the wildflowers. He did not need to look twice to know who that someone was.

 _Éiwyn_.

He quickly strode down the wide front steps of the hall, rushing through the city streets without thought for the people he passed. More than once he had to brusquely push through knots of people that blocked the lanes. What was she doing so far in the fields on her own? Orcs do not usually travel by day, but they _could_. No one was allowed outside the walls alone. Did she not know this?

Thorin reached the small doors at the side of the main gates and glowered at the two men standing guard there. "You let Lady Éiwyn go outside the walls alone?"

The guards seemed startled by Thorin's rancor. One of them found his voice and said, "She was not alone, my lord, for Kíli accompanied her."

Thorin gave the man a searing look before he thundered through the door. Glancing around, he saw Kíli lounging against the stone wall, kicking rocks idly with the toe of his boot. The anger in Thorin's gaze could not be denied, for when Kíli looked up he started in surprise. His nephew opened his mouth as though to explain himself but Thorin raised a hand to cut him off.

"I'll deal with you later," he snarled. Kíli flinched and gave his uncle a dark look, but at that moment Thorin did not care.

He stalked across the valley towards Éiwyn, whose back was to him, her skirt buffeted by the wind. She walked slowly, gathering flowers as she went, seemingly insensible to her vulnerability. It was maddening to see her so careless as to be this far from the protection of his walls, Kíli's presence notwithstanding.

Thorin was nearly upon her before he called her name. She turned, clearly startled by his presence, and looked in confusion from him to the city beyond.

"What are you doing out here?" His voice was rather harsher than he had intended. She did not answer him, which only increased his displeasure. "You should not be this far from the walls, it's too dangerous. What are you thinking?"

Her eyes flashed at him and he saw they were full of tears. "I am thinking it has been a year and a day since my father died," she said, her voice angry and unsteady. "I wanted to be out in the open to bid my last farewell."

Thorin opened his mouth to reply but closed it again. Tears rolled down Éiwyn's cheeks. He regretted how harshly he had spoken to her, but his concerns for her safety seemed greater than her own, and that rankled him.

"I do not want you so far out here," he said.

His words were apparently too like a command and she bristled at him. Her hand that clutched the wildflower blossoms was suddenly white-knuckled. "I have seen the workers in the farmlands outside the walls, and they come and go as they please." She was close to shouting and he was reminded of how she had raged at him when he asked for her hand.

"Did I not tell you of the orc raids in the Emyn Uial?" he asked, trying to contain his own anger. She had been troubled for the villagers at the news of Gram's call for aid, but even so, standing alone so far from the gates, she seemed not to understand the threat such a band of orcs could be to Thornost. Orcs could cross the plains to the Ered Luin far faster than she had on their journey west.

"I asked Dís this morning if I could come into the fields, and she said I could. Is that not enough, or am I your prisoner?"

The sting of her words was a shock. Deathly quiet, he echoed, "My prisoner?"

Éiwyn gasped, a horrified expression on her face. "I don't mean that, I don't." She pressed one hand over her mouth to stifle a cry and turned away from him, her shoulders heaving from her sobs.

For the briefest moment, he thought to walk away and leave her alone in the fields, as she so clearly wished to be. Instead, he checked his temper and said as gently as his frustration would allow, "I would take you outside the gates any time you wish. Why did you not ask me to accompany you?"

She sobbed again and laughed bitterly, but her laughter did not seem to be directed at him. "I did not want you to see me like this. I know what you must think of me."

Despite his frustration at her carelessness, his heart ached for her in her sorrow. He wanted to take her into his arms, but he knew she would not accept such an embrace from him.

"What must I think of you?" he asked.

"That I am delicate and weak." Her voice was thick from crying. She did not leave his side, but kept her back to him, avoiding his gaze.

"Grief is not weakness," he said.

Éiwyn passed a hand over her eyes as her breath caught in her throat. "When have _you_ ever cried?"

"I am not made of stone, Éiwyn. I have known grief and despair." That she thought he could have survived Erebor and Azanulbizar immune to such emotions seemed a testament to how heartless he must be in her view.

"You need not conceal your sorrow for my sake," he said softly. "Do you not know how I admire your tenderness? It was the grief of your heart that first drew me to you." She met his gaze, obviously surprised by this revelation. Of course she did not know, he had spoken little of his feelings for her since the day she refused him. If she thought him callous, it was his own doing.

Éiwyn tried to compose herself and wiped the tears from her cheeks but still seemed ashamed to stand before him so. Her hand dropped from her face to the necklace he had given her and she held the gem in her fingers. "I just wanted to say one last goodbye. My father was all I ever had."

"You carry him with you always. As I do mine."

She looked up at him then, but quickly dropped her gaze down to his shoulders. So quiet that he barely heard her voice on the breeze, she said, "I do not feel like a prisoner. I'm sorry for saying such a thing."

"The sentiment is understandable," he said, his voice heavy with regret. "I did not give you the say you deserved when I brought you here, and for that I am sorry. It was less offensive to me to risk your wrath than to lose you forever."

She held his gaze a moment and seemed unsure what to say in return. He did not expect her to declare herself to him but it would be a lie to say he did not hope for such a change of heart daily. That she did not ask to be released from their betrothal when he offered it had been a relief to his heart and mind.

She looked up at him and her lips parted slightly as though she would speak, but she suddenly looked away into the distance. She hugged her arms to her chest, the knot of wildflowers still in one hand. "Is it so very dangerous to be out here?"

"We have scouts through the valley to alert us to dangers, but none of us should wander alone, even in daylight. Even the farm workers, as you have seen, do not go about alone."

"I was not alone." Her anger had cooled but he could see she wanted to prove to him she was not in the wrong.

He turned to look at the city behind him. In the far distance stood the figure of Kíli, still waiting near the gates. Thorin would need to make up with his nephew when they returned.

"I did not see Kíli at first, only you yourself, solitary in the fields. I knew not what to think." He paused a moment before adding, "Do you have more you wished to do?"

She opened one palm and let the flower petals she held there swirl away in the breeze. "No. I have said my farewell." She gave him a small, shy smile, and it seemed their argument was done away.

He inclined his head towards her. "Forgive me my anger."

"Forgive me mine," she returned. He smiled slightly and nodded his assent. Éiwyn closed the distance between them and laced her free hand in the crook of his arm. "I am ready to return to the great hall," she said softly.

Thorin's surprise could only have been greater had she kissed him. She always shied away from him whenever he was close and never touched him of her own volition. To have her come to him was beyond unexpected, but he quickly regained his composure and escorted her back towards the city, his heart full of hope.

#

Éiwyn sat with Dís on the terrace of the great hall overlooking the city, a sewing basket set between them. Dís worked on mending one of Fíli's tunics while Éiwyn tried her hand at embroidering Thorin's sigil. He had it emblazoned on everything from his sword hilt to his belt buckle, so it seemed wise to learn how to work it. What she might later put the mark on, she didn't know, but she wanted to be ready when opportunity arose.

Her argument with Thorin in the fields had forged a new bond between them. They had found common ground with each other through their shared outbursts and cooling of temper. This was perhaps not the best way to go about such things, but she could not deny the threads of tenderness she felt towards him. All the same, her increasing affection was nearly as disconcerting to her as her hatred had once been.

Since seeing Thorin's worry for her safety outside the walls, Éiwyn's own worries had only grown. Did he not face the threat of orcs willingly? Would he not return to battle in time? She tried to envision herself watching him ride out of the gates, having little idea what she would feel on that day.

She longed to discuss these concerns with Dís. If anyone could understand her, it seemed Dís would, for she had lost her own husband in the battle of Azanulbizar. Éiwyn had not ventured to ask about him and Dís had not yet offered to tell her. She would not question Dís about her husband, but she thought it could not be inappropriate to ask about her sons.

A little ball of fear knotted in Éiwyn's belly as she blurted out, "Does it not worry you when Fíli and Kíli go off to battle orcs?"

Dís glanced over at Éiwyn, apparently surprised at the suddenness of the question, but continued on with her mending. "Aye, that it does," Dís admitted as her fingers moved her needle through the fabric draped across her lap. "Each time, a small part of me fears it will be the last. But then I think of the alternative."

"What do you mean?"

"If no one went out to clear the orcs' nests, what would become of our lands?" Dís did not answer her own question, but Éiwyn's mind pictured orcs swarming into cities and villages without hindrance. Although she had never seen one, she knew they killed without reason or remorse. They multiplied in secret nests and hives, seemingly for the sole purpose of destroying men.

Dís nodded as though affirming Éiwyn's thoughts. "And although I worry over my sons, I am proud of them. They fight honorably. I would not want them to shrink from battle."

Such was the life of warriors, Éiwyn supposed. In Annúminas, she had had little to do with the soldiers, and her father had never gone out to battle orcs in her memory. This had always seemed natural, but now she wondered if perhaps her father enjoyed such luxuries, in part, because of the vigilance of Thorin and his army.

"Will Thorin continue hunting orcs with the company, once we are bound?" It was a question Éiwyn had pondered many times without satisfaction.

Dís set her mending down and watched Éiwyn as though carefully choosing her words. "I do not know," she said. "He may finally settle down as the ruler of Thornost that he is. Or the hunt may call to him, and he will be off again. We will have to wait and see."

It was with difficulty that Éiwyn took her embroidery back up into her hands. She traced her fingertip over the intricate sigil, thinking of the man to whom it belonged. The idea of Thorin riding into the unknown to battle orcs filled her with dread, yet she could not imagine he would shrink from the challenge. She knew that he would fight as long as there was need.

#

Soon, Éiwyn had a challenge of her own to face. Her archery training with Kíli rushed past until it was time for her to demonstrate her abilities. She stood in the practice room, bow at the ready, staring at the red rings of the target before her. Fíli, Kíli, and Dwalin stood off to the side, carefully watching her every move.

Her proficiency had gradually improved, but her aim was still inconsistent. She had, in fact, struck dead center several times in the last week, but had missed the rings entirely just as often. Although she enjoyed archery practice, she did not enjoy facing this test of skill. Yet the month was up and she would try her best, for Kíli's sake. She had made it clear he was never again to involve her in such a scheme.

"Nothing to worry about," Kíli said with an encouraging nod. "Just give it your best try." The grin he wore fell from his face and he pursed his lips, his usual optimism deflated for the moment as he waited to see how she performed.

"Relax," Fíli told her. "It's just fifteen gold."

" _My_ fifteen gold," Kíli whispered. Fíli only shrugged.

Dwalin said nothing but simply stood and watched with his usual look of indifference. Thorin, it seemed, had not learned of the wager. It had occurred to her over the weeks that he might have been legitimately angry with Kíli for putting her in such a situation, had he known of it. In any case, he was not of the party to witness her exhibition, which was a relief to Éiwyn. His presence could only have unsettled her all the more.

Éiwyn faced the target and took a deep breath to steady herself. Nocking the arrow, she drew the string back until she was in proper position. Aiming longer than she ordinarily would and hoping for the best, she finally loosed the arrow. It sailed through the air and struck the target with a satisfying _thunk_.

The arrow hit close to center, and Kíli rushed to the target to confirm where it landed. Dwalin was not far behind, and the two examined the arrow.

"It's just off center," Kíli told her, placing his fingers close together. "A hair's breadth away from the red." Despite his loss, he did not sound terribly disappointed.

Although she disliked seeing Kíli lose his gold coins, Éiwyn was quite pleased with the results. She would have been mortified to miss the target entirely, as she had imagined she would do in her more dismal musings.

Fíli nodded as he assessed the target. "Well done, Éiwyn."

Dwalin clapped Kíli on the back. "I'll settle for half," he said with a chuckle, much to Kíli's relief. Dwalin approached Éiwyn and slightly inclined his head towards her, the barest smile about his mouth. His eyes sparkled and she thought perhaps this was as close to happiness as she had ever seen him. "You've taken to it better than I expected. A little more practice and you'll be ready to join the ranks of the company." He gave her a wink.

Dwalin actually winked at her? It seemed mountains had moved. She was so pleased she burst into happy laughter. "Do not reserve a position for me just yet."

Kíli put one arm around Dwalin's shoulders and with an impish grin, he said, "I'm going to need to pay you in installments."


	13. Chapter 13

Éiwyn's question of whether Thorin would return to battle was answered more suddenly than she anticipated. One of Thornost's scouts had spotted a small orc pack roaming in the mountains a day's ride to the north. Thorin quickly called his company together to ride out and cut the orcs down before they could establish a nest. They were ready to depart almost before she even knew what was happening.

Thorin was a formidable sight when he took his leave of Éiwyn, dressed for battle. The sun glittered off his chain mail and shone upon him with a golden light. He took her hand in his and gazed into her eyes for a moment before bidding her a brief farewell. He then led his men to their horses and down the road through the outer gates, the clink of weapons and armor echoing as they went. Thorin did not look back.

Dís patted Éiwyn gently on the shoulder. "Do not fret. A dozen or so orcs will give them no trouble." She said no more and returned to the halls.

More than forty men of Thornost rode out into the mountains that morning, wearing full armor and bristling with swords, bows, and axes. Even so, forty hardly seemed like enough as she watched them fade into the distance. Éiwyn soon followed Dís inside, worry trailing her like a shadow.

Dís went about her usual work that day, seemingly undisturbed by the company's departure. Whatever anxiety she felt over them, she did not confess it. Éiwyn could not keep such calm composure. She wanted to trust Dís's word that the orcs would give the company no trouble, but she did not quite believe it. What if there were more orcs than anticipated? It was conceivable forty men would not be enough.

There was nothing to be done but wait. Éiwyn paced the corridors of Thorin's halls without relief from her anxious thoughts. She tried to busy herself in the gardens and kitchens but had no mind for it. Always she thought of Thorin battling faceless creatures on the mountainside.

Useless to Fern and the cooks, Éiwyn wandered aimlessly through the city. She sought distraction among the shops and marketplace, but could not find it. She wondered what orcs were like and what Thorin felt facing them. Did he fear them? It seemed impossible to her that he would.

Eventually she found herself in the small, disused library of Thornost. Dís had shown it to her on their tour of the city, but Éiwyn had not returned since that first day. A library was far less a comfort to her without Olórin's familiar face and cheerful voice to greet her. She wondered how he fared with a pang of regret, knowing it unlikely they would ever meet again.

She walked through the books with unseeing eyes, touching the spines but not bothering to read the names listed there. The books and parchments could not capture her interest, but she found something else that did. In the back of the library sat a large stone chest and above it hung a tapestry of Thorin's royal ancestry. With her fingertip, Éiwyn traced the portion of the line from Thrór, to Thráin, to Thorin. She lingered there, wondering who might come after.

Her gaze dropped down to examine the stone chest. It was intricately carved, but Éiwyn could not understand the markings. The lid was heavy but not locked. On opening it, she found a tapestry as elaborate and lovely as the ones in the great hall. Its glittering threads seemed to call to her, begging to be seen. Clutching it to her chest, she pulled it from the trunk and rolled it out upon the floor so she might have a better view.

The tapestry was of a wondrous city carved into the side of a solitary mountain peak. A wide river flowed away from the halls to form a long blue lake below. Surely this must be Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and the river Running. Éiwyn knelt before it until her knees ached, taking in the scene. It was beautifully worked and she envied whomever had labored over it. Reverently, she lightly touched the stitches, tracing the path of the silver river, the golden mountain, the mighty halls.

She understood now why the people of the Lonely Mountain had chosen Thornost for their place of refuge. With the Blue Mountains behind and the river Lhûn flowing out, they surely saw in it reflections of the glory of Erebor. Walking into the valley must have felt like coming home again after their long journey in the wilds.

Why did this tapestry not have a place of honor among the others in Thorin's halls? Surely the people of Thornost would want to see this beautiful reminder of their former home. No, she thought, that was not right. The tapestry would only serve to remind them of what was now defiled by a dragon and lost to them forever. This image, splendid as it was, could only bring grief. Carefully, she bundled the tapestry up and replaced it in the chest.

That evening Éiwyn took her supper alone with Dís. The empty places at table did nothing to soothe her thoughts. The image of Erebor loomed in her mind and gave her little heart for conversation. What a kingdom to have had and lost. How Thorin must grieve his rightful home. Where was he now? Éiwyn did not linger with Dís, but took her leave and retired early.

Rest did not come. In the night she woke, her mind fixed on the men of Thornost fighting orcs somewhere in the darkness. She lay awake long hours, her ears straining as though she might hear some trace of the battle through the still night air. Knowing sleep to be impossible, she dressed before dawn.

Éiwyn sat staring at her unfinished breakfast when the horns on the walls rang out. Forgetting for a moment that orcs do not usually travel by day, she ran to the doorway of the great hall, fearing to see a mass of evil creatures at the gates. Instead, she saw the riders of the company galloping across the fields home and heard the distant peal of their own horns.

She rushed down the front steps and along the lane that wound its way through Thornost. Dís was already waiting at the edge of the open gate along with many other residents of the city. Éiwyn wanted to join them but thought it awkward to receive Thorin so conspicuously. Instead, she lagged behind the crowds and watched for the company's arrival from afar.

The riders came into view with Thorin in the lead, and Éiwyn sighed in relief. She felt suddenly lighter as the fear that had gripped her heart all the last day eased.

 _He is safe._

The horses kicked up dust in the main road as the men all dismounted and entered the city. Thorin went to his sister, who embraced him and kissed each of his cheeks. He looked about and when he saw Éiwyn yet on the hill, he strode through the crowd to stand before her.

"My lady." Thorin bowed to Éiwyn.

Her eyes searched his face and armor, desperate to confirm that he was uninjured. "Welcome home," she said as she bowed to him in return. She both longed and feared to say more.

Thorin seemed pleased to see her and yet strangely discouraged. Éiwyn did not have long to study his expression before he excused himself and led his men into the halls. As the company filed past, Dís followed slowly behind and cast a curious glance on Éiwyn.

All that day the men of the company rested, for they had not slept in the night. Éiwyn busied herself with Fern, picking fresh, ripe berries among the vines and hedges. Her mind wandered again and again to Thorin's arrival at the gate, the way her heart leapt when she caught sight of him again. What if one day he did not return? What would she feel then? Her stomach clenched as she tormented herself with such thoughts.

"You still look worried," Fern said to her from across a berry bramble. "I would have thought you'd be comforted now that Lord Thorin has returned home."

"I am comforted," Éiwyn replied absently. "Of course I am." She looked at her friend and smiled self-consciously. "I am just borrowing trouble, I suppose."

"You're already thinking of the next time he'll depart," Fern said. Éiwyn nodded. "You cannot do that or you'll never be at peace. You live among warriors now. If you're always thinking of the next separation, you'll never be able to appreciate the reunions."

Éiwyn thought of the awkwardness of her reunion with Thorin in the lane. It seemed wrong somehow, but she hardly knew what she might have done differently. Still, she tried to take Fern's advice to heart. It would do no good to dwell on worries of the next battle. She would simply be grateful that the last had ended well, and that Thorin was home.

#

That evening, Éiwyn stood just outside the great hall's doors, looking across the valley. Sunset painted the fields and houses alike with a golden, ethereal light. In the distance, the river Lhûn sparkled as it flowed away through the valley. Torches all along the city's outer wall flickered in the slight breeze and she could just make out the guards stationed there. Windows in houses and shops glowed from candlelight within, and townsfolk hurried to and fro on the lanes.

Suddenly aware of Thorin near at hand, Éiwyn gasped in surprise. Lost as she was in her own thoughts, she had no idea how long he had been standing beside her.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to startle you." Thorin reached out to her but stopped short of touching her and dropped his hand abruptly.

Éiwyn tried to brush off his concern with a confident smile. "I didn't see you there."

He stepped closer to her side. "And what are you thinking of so fervently?"

"I was thinking how wonderful Thornost is," she said. He gave her a keen glance. "Truly. It is far beyond what I had ever expected."

"We have worked hard to make it so."

"I know. I cannot imagine how furiously you must have labored to achieve all this in so short a time."

He smiled slightly. "The vision of our former home was still vivid in our minds as we worked."

Éiwyn sighed a little, thinking of the tapestry of the Lonely Mountain. "I'm sure it cannot compare to the grandeur of Erebor, but this city is lovely in its own way."

He looked out across the valley, still shining from sunset's fading glory, as though taking in the view for the first time. His eyes seemed to miss nothing as he scanned the lands and buildings before him.

"You are right," he said at last. "As lovely as it is, it does not quite compare. I am not sure any city ever could."

"Do you miss it?" Her voice was quiet in the stillness.

"I have been away from it half my life," he said. Although not curt, his words seemed dismissive of her question, and she turned her gaze back to the town. They stood together in silence, watching over the city below.

"I think of Erebor often, Éiwyn. Both what it was and what it might have been. It pains me to know it is lost to darkness, but this is a thing I cannot change." His voice was low but steady, as though he had accepted this long ago.

"I should not have mentioned it, I'm sorry. "

"Don't be," he said. "I don't mind telling you of it. But know this. It is a temptation for me to dwell too much on the past, to linger in thoughts of my lost kingdom. I must set those regrets aside. I must look to the future of my people."

Thorin's firm resolve in the face of his own devastation was admirable. "You lead your people well," she said gently.

He gave her a curious glance. "You think so?"

"Yes, I do." She made a sweeping gesture before them. "Look at all you have accomplished."

He shook his head modestly. "I was but a part."

"You were instrumental," Éiwyn insisted. "I've read the histories and I've seen it here first hand. This couldn't have happened without you. You have given your people new life."

Thorin smiled at the compliment, but she guessed he thought to correct her again, so she rushed on. "You held them together when it seemed all would fall apart. You have done more for your people than many kings have done for theirs, and you are loved all the more for it."

He seemed struck by her choice of words and looked at her so tenderly she abruptly turned her face back to the city. Although she kept her eyes fixed on the knots of wooden buildings, she could tell his eyes remained on her.

"I should like to be deserving of the love of my people."

The way his voice dropped as he said _my people_ , she thought sure he meant her alone. A wave of nervousness washed over her and her cheeks grew pink, which only compounded her embarrassment. She clasped her hands and glanced back at him but could not bring herself to form a response.

Thorin had the grace not to say more, and turned his gaze back to the city. He shifted his body slightly and his shoulder pressed against hers. They stood side by side, looking out across Thornost as the last of the sunset faded into darkness.

#

Thorin sat alone by the fireside in the great hall late into the evening. He took long draws on his pipe and stared into the flames. The band of orcs they had killed the previous night disturbed him. Never before had a nest been attempted so near to Thornost. They were growing bolder.

Dwalin approached, still wearing his mail shirt under his tunic, and leaned against the fireplace mantel. "What are your orders?"

Grim laughter rumbled from Thorin's chest. "You know me so well?"

"Closest orcs have ever been to the halls. You'll be wanting to do something about it." Dwalin spoke with firm resolve, as though there could be no doubt Thorin would act. Indeed, there could not.

Thorin had waited too long, hoping to avoid a second battle such as the one at Azanulbizar. He had thought it enough to destroy the nests only. But if the orcs marched as one? He did not like the idea of sitting still, waiting for legions of orcs to march in force on lands of men. He could ill afford to wait any longer.

"Send out scouts, riding at speed, as many as we may spare. I want all of northern Beleriand and the Arthedain scoured for this orc hive."

"Aye. And then?" Dwalin asked, his eyes made menacing by the red firelight.

"Then we will strike."


	14. Chapter 14

Thorin had little reprieve from his thoughts of the orcs, for the men he had sent to the Emyn Uial returned the next morning. When the horns on the wall rang out, he walked down to the gates to greet the leader of the riders. The scene was a mass of confusion as one hundred fifty men on horseback streamed into the city where they were immediately surrounded by friends and family.

He eventually found Nori among them and caught his attention. Nori was a cunning warrior with a quick mind for battle tactics and an eye for weak spots in enemy defenses. Strangely, he was also fastidious in his appearance and maintained his elaborately braided hair and beard with an almost religious zeal. Braids or no, Thorin cared only that Nori was loyal and brave.

"Welcome back," Thorin said heartily as the two men began to walk the lane into the city. "How fared the company?"

"None were lost, my lord," Nori said with a gleam of pride in his eyes. "We've tended our share of injuries over the last weeks, but all survived."

"Well done. And the orc nest?"

"Destroyed," Nori confirmed. "King Gram's men had already discovered it by the time we arrived, although I confess I think they must have stumbled onto it by chance. They were still debating what to do about it when we got there."

"What do you make of Gram's army?"

"Outnumbered," Nori answered quickly. "If there had been more of them they'd have fought well enough, but Gram sent too few to defeat so many orcs, and those he did send took heavy losses. Whether Gram doesn't know any better or simply wanted to protect his own walls, I can't say."

This news did not surprise Thorin. He had seen similar scenarios in most of the western kingdoms. Either they did not fully understand the threat the orcs posed, or they feared them so much they could not bear to send troops away from their own gates. "What of the villages the orcs attacked?"

"Three villages were burned by the filth before we got there," Nori said, and spat on the ground. "Hard to say how many escaped, but hundreds of innocents were slaughtered." He stopped to face Thorin and looked about, apparently checking for listening ears.

"There's more, Thorin. I held the last of the pack for questioning. He refused to give any information on the hive but what he said was enough. They're planning something. He boasted that all the lands of men would be burned, that all would be defiled and destroyed at their hands. I'd heard enough, and I ran him through."

This was ill news. The war he had dreaded would come, whether he sought it or not. They must find the hive as soon as possible.

"I wouldn't have done any differently," Thorin said. "I thank you for leading this company. Please, take your rest."

Nori nodded. "I'll take my rest while I can get it, but I'd imagine it won't last long."

"No," Thorin confirmed, "it won't last long."

#

Éiwyn spent the morning alongside Fern in the gardens. When the horns rang out on the wall, the two women had strolled along the lane to see whose return was heralded, but soon made their way back to the berry patch. Neither had a loved one among the company to greet and it was too crowded and too hot to loiter needlessly.

Several women and children worked steadily away in the berry brambles, anxious to pick all the fruit at its peak. They filled baskets full to brimming with fresh, ripe berries of all kinds. Standing at a raspberry hedge overrun with fruit, they discussed the pies and preserves that were soon to be made. Éiwyn declared herself partial to the jams, for she loved any and all breads with cream and jam.

"In that case, I'm guessing you've never had a fresh berry pie," Fern said with a gentle laugh. "There's nothing better."

"Oh, I agree," came Bofur's voice from behind them. The women turned to see him standing beside the hedgerow, apparently admiring their progress. "Nothing better than a berry pie, that's true. Although," he conceded with a wide grin at Éiwyn, "you can't go wrong adding a spot of cream to the pie."

She smiled and nodded a greeting, but returned her attention to her picking. Over the last weeks, Bofur had often found the two of them in the garden, always with a particular question for Fern. Once, he had come upon Éiwyn alone but immediately forgot what had brought him to the gardens and took his leave. She was ignorant about many ways of men, but not so blind as to mistake Bofur's intentions.

"How do you do today, Bofur?" Fern asked.

"I do quite well, Miss Fern, quite well," he said. "Although, Bombur has sent me after a particular purple sage and bless me if I can't find it in the herb garden. It seems I'm all turned around in there. I thought perhaps _you_ would help me find it? If it's no trouble?"

Fern glanced to Éiwyn, who gave her friend a sly smile in return. "It's no trouble at all." Fern set down her basket of berries and said to Éiwyn, "I'll return shortly."

"It's quite a walk to the herb garden," Bofur said as though in thoughtful contemplation. "It seems only proper that I offer you my arm, Miss Fern."

Éiwyn heard her friend thank him before they strolled away through the berry hedges. She was pleased for Fern, who seemed to welcome Bofur's attentions. Fern had confided nothing in particular, but could hardly conceal the happiness these walks brought her. Éiwyn thought of her own walks with Thorin and felt a little thrill of delight, herself.

Fern and Bofur were usually absent at least a quarter of an hour, so Éiwyn was surprised to hear footsteps behind her shortly after they left. She turned to see Dís approaching, shading her eyes from the summer sun with her hand.

"I've come to assist with the picking," Dís told her. "Lindy has been clamoring so, making everything ready for preserves and jams, she can hardly wait to get her hands on these berries."

"There are plenty to be picked," Éiwyn said as Dís took up Fern's discarded basket.

"And eaten," Dís said, popping a red berry into her mouth.

"It's such a lot to harvest," Éiwyn said. "These brambles grow like weeds."

"Oh aye," Dís said, "but many hands make light work. We're not likely to have any go to waste." Dís smiled as her fingers quickly plucked at the berries. "Just wait until autumn. You've not seen anything until you've seen Thornost's harvest festival."

"A harvest festival? What is it like?" This was the first she had heard of an impending celebration at Thornost.

"The whole city turns out for two days of dancing, feasting, and singing songs," Dís said, her eyes lit bright with the thought. "There are competitions among the men, of course, they always like to prove themselves, you know. Although, truth be told, the women are as bad as the men. But, oh, the music! It rings out so loud, it seems the very mountains join in. Even Thorin sets aside the warrior for two days to sing and play the harp."

Éiwyn almost dropped her basket. She turned to Dís open mouthed. "Thorin plays the harp?"

"Oh yes," Dís nodded, "and you won't hear a finer singing voice among the men. I say that objectively, mind, not just as his sister."

Éiwyn hardly knew what to make of this information, it seemed so incongruous with his character. What she _thought_ of his character, she corrected herself. Clearly, she still had much to learn of him.

"He usually sings one or two songs," Dís continued, "but so do all. It's quite a merry time as we steel ourselves against the long bleakness of winter."

Éiwyn laughed to herself as she tried to picture Thorin playing harp and singing amid a crowd. What sort of song might Thorin sing? Something mournful of war, or something merry and lighthearted? The scene was utterly unfathomable, but she hoped to see it all the same. "I quite look forward to witnessing this tradition of Thornost."

"Oh, aye," Dís said, "you'll find we have many of our own traditions here, isolated as we are. We've carried on some of the old, and established new." She glanced at Éiwyn then, and a bit of the older woman's merriment had faded. Her mouth turned down into a slight frown and she seemed almost hesitant to go on.

"One custom I perhaps should have mentioned to you earlier. You know how strong our outer wall is. Within is safety, without is danger. Such is the world in which we live. When our men return from battle, it is our custom that we throw the gates open wide to receive them. Loved ones gather at the open gate to stand in the face of danger. It shows we love our beloved as much as we love our own safety. Do you understand?"

She did understand. When Thorin had looked for her at the gates and not found her, she had insulted him, however unconsciously. She thought there had been something of disappointment in his eyes when he greeted her on the road, but she had brushed those fears aside as her own nervousness. Now, too late, she learned that remaining on the hill to conceal her feelings had only served to offend his.

Dís said no more on the subject, but chatted amiably with the other women. Éiwyn listened absently but was caught up in her own thoughts. It seemed she could not escape disappointing Thorin, no matter how she tried. There was a time when such a thing meant nothing to her, but that was not so now. She could not say or do more than she felt, but neither did she have any wish to cause him pain.

Éiwyn was still pondering Dís's lesson hours later when she rushed into the practice hall for a different sort of lesson with Fíli. As she opened the training room door, she called out to apologize for her tardiness, but her words stopped in her throat.

"You're late." Thorin was in the center of the room holding a practice sword. He turned to her as though he had been pacing while he waited.

Éiwyn furrowed her brow as she looked about. "Where is Fíli?"

"I am giving him a rest today. He fought hard and deserves it." Thorin waited as Éiwyn's slow steps finally brought her to him. "Fíli has told me of your progress. I have come to see it for myself."

Éiwyn's mouth parted in surprise. "You want me to spar with you?"

"Aye."

"I don't think I can," Éiwyn demurred.

"Why not? Do you think it easier to fight my nephew?" One corner of his mouth curled up in apparent amusement.

"I imagine it must be." Éiwyn had hoped to be far more improved in skill before Thorin witnessed her lumbering about with a sword again. She _had_ improved, but not sufficiently to remove her unease at being on display. "My lord, I would be too embarrassed to spar with you."

"Imagine that I am an orc," he offered.

"I don't think I can do that, either."

"Then we are making progress already." His eyes shone as he smiled fully. "Come. Put on your mail and take up your sword, as you do with Fíli."

Éiwyn sighed but saw it would do no good to argue. She slipped into her light coat of mail and found her practice sword among the others. It suddenly seemed woefully insufficient in light of her new sparring partner. She stepped closer to him in the center of the room.

"You are wearing no mail," she pointed out. "I don't wish to harm you."

"You won't." Thorin smiled again and nodded, indicating she had the opportunity of striking first. She took a deep breath, dismayed at this turn of events. When she did gather her courage to strike, his sword blocked hers easily. She struck again, and again his sword was ready. She thrust at him in stilted motions, always unable to reach him, while Thorin moved languidly, as though he were fighting at only half speed.

"Watch me, not my sword," he instructed. She tried to follow his directions, but maintaining eye contact with him only served to decrease her concentration and increase her fumbling. She moved her sword as well as she was able, but could not get close to him.

"You must be ready to parry after you strike," he said. She tried to maneuver herself as Fíli had taught her, but her reflexes were even slower than usual. Despite the racing of her heart, her nervousness only served to make her sluggish.

Thorin reached out and struck her upper arm lightly with the flat of his blade. The sting of the hit was mild compared to her shock at receiving it. A fire lit in Éiwyn's eyes as she clutched her arm and glared at him. "Fíli has never struck me!"

"Then I will tell him to adjust your training." Thorin raised his eyebrows in challenge as he waited for her to attack again.

She shook off her surprise and continued to strike and feint, always just missing her mark. Despite an almost lazy defense, Thorin urged her to fight him as hard as she could. But for his teasing jests, Éiwyn might have suspected Thorin was bored by her efforts.

She maneuvered too far to her left as she parried and he spanked her on the backside with his sword. She gasped in surprise at his impertinence. His eyes twinkled with mischief and he seemed on the verge of laughter. Her wounded pride quickly turned to indignation. She knew he was toying with her, that she could never get her sword close enough to strike him, but her frustration made her fight all the harder. He blocked and parried, but still she kept her sword moving in rapid desperation. Thorin brought his sword down as though to swat at her again. Éiwyn would not have that and quickly swung her own around to parry but misjudged the distance. As she brought her own sword up, the flat of Thorin's sword came down hard on the hand that gripped her hilt, splitting her knuckles.

Éiwyn cried out and dropped her sword. Thorin was at her side in an instant and took her bleeding hand in his. He inspected the wound and then gathered supplies to bind it, cursing himself under his breath as he went.

"Sit down," he said gently as he lowered her to sit on the floor. He fetched some water and used it to clean the wound, then pressed a cloth against it to stop the bleeding. Everything that touched her hand brought a white-hot pain, from the wet cloth to the very air of the room. Silent tears fell down her face.

"Forgive me, Éiwyn. It was foolish of me to spar with you, I never should have." Thorin stumbled over his words in his haste to apologize. She had never seen him so awkward before. "I fear for you. Forgive me."

He found a salve which he dabbed generously on the wounds before binding up her hand. The salve soothed the pain immediately, but Éiwyn's tears continued to fall. She felt sadly out of place in the training room, an unskilled girl in a coat of mail.

Kneeling before her, Thorin whispered to her urgently, his eyes desperate for her understanding. "I fear for you, Éiwyn. You know so little of the dangers of this world. I do not fear in battle, but yesterday I feared for you."

He lightly stroked her hair as he spoke, his fingers pressing the brown wisps about her face. "You are my most cherished jewel and I'd left you behind. I would protect you with my very life, but if I were not here, what then? I want too much for you to learn to protect yourself and I pushed you too hard. So I am the one who hurts you. Oh Éiwyn, forgive me."

Thorin's anguished words went straight to her heart. Her own pain gone, she thought to soothe him, but knew not what to say. So she did something she had often longed to do when she could not meet his gaze. She reached up and lightly took one of his braids in her unhurt hand. She fingered the soft, perfectly woven strand until she held the bead that bound it. Underneath her fingertip, she felt the impression of its tiny engravings that she knew so well.

"It was an accident," she whispered. "There is nothing to forgive."

Thorin cupped her face in his hand and gazed into her eyes as though searching for confirmation of her words. She smiled at him faintly, too nervous to speak as he looked at her that way. He sighed and pressed a kiss to her forehead.


	15. Chapter 15

The next morning, Éiwyn awoke feeling as though her head would not clear. Although she'd had no wine at dinner the night before, her thoughts were muddled and heavy. She dressed slowly and set out towards the gardens, intending to let the fresh air set her head aright.

Her conversation with Thorin in the practice hall swirled in her mind. His urgent confession overwhelmed her. He had declared his heart to her, but she had said nothing in return. Always, her heart had been a guarded, untouchable thing. What would happen if she let down her defenses? Why did she fear her own feelings so? His love for her could not be denied.

Her thoughts were all in a tangle and it was difficult to sort through them. All she wanted was to reach the orchard, but the distance suddenly seemed too far. Her steps were slow as though she were wading through a murky bog. She had just walked down the stairs of the great hall that led out to the gardens when her knees buckled beneath her. She landed hard on the cobblestone path, unable to pick herself up again.

#

Thorin was assessing his completed battle axe in his forge when a woman rushed into the doorway. "My lord," she said as she hurriedly bowed a curtsy, "lady Éiwyn is ill. She calls for you."

Thorin set the axe aside and followed the woman as they rushed past low buildings, making their way to the rear of the great hall. _Éiwyn, ill?_ His thoughts absurdly went to the injury he had given her the night before. Surely it would not have brought on an illness. The wound was not likely to develop an infection, nor could one have arisen so quickly.

Éiwyn came into view sitting at the bottom of a flight of steps, attended by two women from the gardens. Her chin was nearly on her chest, she held her head so low. He knelt in front of her and gently clasped her shoulder. "Éiwyn?"

She looked up at him with glassy eyes. "I feel so strange..." Her voice was barely a whisper.

Thorin pressed his palm against her forehead, which burned with fever. His hand went to the wide neck of her dress and carefully pulled the fabric aside. An angry red rash ranged over her collar bone and down beneath her shift.

Thorin swore under his breath as he gathered Éiwyn up into his arms. Her head lolled against his chest and she clutched at the front of his tunic. He looked to the women who had been at her side. "Run to the healers immediately and send them to Éiwyn's chamber." He raced up the stairs with her as the women fled toward the healing rooms.

Thorin shouted in the halls for someone to find Dís, and people scrambled to obey. He burst into Éiwyn's room and laid her carefully on her bed. She made no move to adjust her position but only watched him as he walked quickly about the room. He found a cloth which he dipped in water, wrung out, and placed lightly on her forehead. Beads of sweat stood out on her skin and her face was flushed.

She looked up at him in glazed confusion. "What is it..." she mumbled. She was already far into the fever.

He gently caressed her cheek. "It will be all right." His soothing words were for himself as much as her.

Dís rushed into the room, one hand pressed to her chest. She looked from Éiwyn to Thorin, her curious expression tinged with fear. He nodded confirmation. Dís leaned heavily against the nightstand.

"Just this morning?" she whispered.

"There was no sign of it last night."

Two healers entered the chamber and Thorin leapt off the bed to give them room to attend Éiwyn.

"Give us a moment to examine her," one of the healers said to him as the other took up her hand and felt her wrist.

"I won't leave her." Thorin stood resolute.

Dís took her brother by the shoulders. "The healers must examine her. It will take but a minute." She tried to usher him out the door, but Thorin resisted.

"I won't leave her," he repeated, desperate to remain at her side.

"I will stay with her," Dís assured him in soft tones. "Please, Thorin. A moment for Éiwyn's modesty." He looked at her sternly but finally relented.

He stepped out into the hall and Dís quietly closed the door behind him. Thorin paced furiously in front of Éiwyn's room, his steps echoing dully down the stone corridor.

 _Not dragon sickness, anything but that_.

But he had no hope. He had seen it too many times to be in doubt.

Dragon's breath is a poisonous vapor, its ash, a noxious fume. After the dragon had taken Erebor and the inhabitants fled across the wilds, many became ill. Their bodies burned with high fever and their skin bloomed with bright red rash as though the dragon's fire sought to consume them from within. Nearly half of those who fell ill died.

Dís opened Éiwyn's door and Thorin pushed through it into the chamber. The healers looked up at him with mournful eyes. "It is dragon sickness, my lord." His shoulders sank in broken acceptance. "We will return, and tend her as we are able."

He moved slowly to sit by Éiwyn's side. They had changed her into a simple nightdress and tucked her under the light sheet. Gently, he took her hand in his and caressed her cheek. The fever had advanced quickly in the short time since he'd first found her. She lay as though in restless sleep, her breath stilted and shallow.

Dís put her hand on Thorin's shoulder. Her eyes, like the healers', were full of grief and mourning. She, too, had seen her share of this disease and knew, as he did, how deadly it was.

"There is yet hope," she said, offering soft words of comfort.

"I cannot feel it," Thorin whispered. "I would not have brought her here had I thought..." He could not give voice to the rest. He could not lose Éiwyn.

"But how, do you think?"

Thorin understood Dís's question. How did Éiwyn come to have dragon sickness? He knew of only one possible way. "The tapestry."

Dís's brows furrowed. "Why would she have sought out such a thing?"

"I do not know." Thorin looked down at Éiwyn and his heart felt splintered in grief and rage. "That tapestry should have been burned long ago with all the others. I will see it done. Too late, but I will see it done."

"Thorin," Dís whispered as tears welled up in her eyes, "it is all we have left of our past."

"That will not comfort me if it destroys my future."

Thorin remained at Éiwyn's side the rest of the day. The healers came in and out, trying in vain to bring down her fever. They used herbs and fed her broths, they surrounded her body with cool, wet sheets, but still her fever raged on.

Delirium had set in and Éiwyn often spoke frantic words to no one. Most of it seemed random and he could understand little of it. Once, she called to her father, begging him not to go to the next world. He wondered where her thoughts went in their wandering.

At times, she seemed briefly aware of his presence. Her eyes would slowly open and her expression would change to one of recognition. He would speak low words of encouragement to her then, until she slept once more. If she understood him at all, she did not respond.

Late in the evening, Dís came to his side. "You must rest, Thorin. I will keep watch for the evening."

Thorin shook his head, his eyes fixed on Éiwyn's face. "I will watch."

Dís reached up to place her palm on Thorin's cheek, and gently turned his face to hers. "Is this love, Thorin?"

His eyes blazed until his face was ferocious. "I love her more than my life." Dís looked on him in sorrow, his face still held in her hands. "I would fight all the orcs of this world for her. But this -" he gestured to Éiwyn lying in the bed, "what can I do against this?"

"Let me stand guard for you," Dís said gently. "Take some rest, eat, and then return in the morning."

Thorin hated to leave Éiwyn's side, but Dís was right. He needed distraction, if only for a moment, and he had not eaten anything since breakfast. He leaned down and kissed Éiwyn lightly on the forehead. Her skin blazed against his lips and her eyelids fluttered, but she did not wake.

He strode slowly to the great hall. Fíli and Kíli stood about the hearth, as did Balin and Dwalin. A plate of food was waiting for him at a small table. Thorin sat heavily in his chair, exhausted and sick at heart.

"How does she fare, lad?" Balin asked gently.

Thorin shook his head. "The fever has her now. It will be days before we know." He pushed the meal roughly aside. He had no stomach for the food on his plate.

"She'll make it, Thorin," Fíli declared. "She's a fighter."

Kíli somberly nodded his agreement. "She'll come out of it."

"Aye," Dwalin said, "she can fight it, if anyone can."

Thorin nodded with a grim expression and stared dully into the fire, their words so much ringing in his ears. They knew nothing. Fíli and Kíli had no memory of the deaths dragon sickness had inflicted on their people in the wilds. Balin and Dwalin meant well, but only time would tell if Éiwyn would survive.

He could bear no conversation and despised the mournful glances cast his way. He soon took his leave and retired to his chambers. Walking slowly past Éiwyn's room, he listened a moment at the door, but no sound came. Dís would stay with her until morning, he knew. He continued on to his own room.

Thorin paced about his chamber before finally lying down upon the bed. He was a man of action, a warrior. Waiting did not suit him, yet in this there was no action for him to take, and wait he must. He squeezed his eyes shut against the thought of her suffering. All he had hoped and planned for his future with Éiwyn would be destroyed by his own folly if she succumbed to the dragon sickness. He knew that tapestry was rife with disease, but he had done nothing. If she were to die from this, he would be as responsible as if he had killed her with his own hands.

Late in the night, he slipped from his bed, still dressed, and strode silently to the library where the stone chest was kept. For twenty years it had lain forgotten, yet the dragon's sickness within retained its potency.

The tapestry of Erebor had been dutifully ripped down from its rods by a servant amid the dragon's attack. A relic of the throne room precious to his father, it was among the few things carried away with his people as they fled into the wilds. Unknown to them, the tapestry, along with the clothes they wore and the very hair on their heads had been covered in poisonous dragon fume. With every breath of their escape they took in rank disease.

Within days, people fell by the dozens, too weak to walk or even move. They burned and bloomed, but the healers of Erebor could do little to relieve their symptoms. After a week of fever and delirium, many of the sufferers gradually recovered their senses and the illness faded. The rest were buried where they lay.

Only later did they realize they carried the pestilence along with them. Every scrap of fabric that had come from the halls of Erebor was burned in a great pyre, but Thorin's father Thráin would not suffer to have the tapestry destroyed. To him, it represented not just his kingdom, but his _kingship_ , a thing he was not prepared to part with. Protected, as they thought, in a chest of solid stone, the relic had been set aside at Thráin's command and eventually left to moulder in the library, undisturbed for nearly two decades.

Why Éiwyn had opened the chest was beyond Thorin's reckoning, but he could imagine her interest once she saw the weaving within. She had spent hours examining the tapestries in his halls, surely she would have delighted to see the beauty of one long hidden. Had she touched it? Had she unrolled it? He had little idea how powerful the contagion was, but it hardly mattered now.

Holding aloft a torch, Thorin called a guard to his side and they entered the library. Under his direction, they picked up the stone chest and carried it heavily from the building in the darkness. Thorin led them far outside the city gates, their muscles burning from the effort by the time they set it down again. He gestured for the guard to step away. In one swift motion, Thorin opened the chest and thrust the burning torch upon the tapestry.

He stepped back a few paces and watched as the flames rose into the night. The destruction of the offending tapestry did nothing to soothe his thoughts. His actions had come too late to protect the one he loved.

#

Days passed without change in Éiwyn's condition. The healers tended her, Dís and Thorin took it in turns keeping watch over her, but still Éiwyn's fever raged.

Thorin spent much of his time at her bedside. He would have slept in her very room had Dís allowed it, but she insisted he at least try to get some proper rest. He merely lay in his own bed, his mind and heart in broken agony. Sleep came in fragments, marred by nightmares he had not known since his youth of the dragon that had sacked his homeland. More than once, he woke in a cold sweat, tormented by the image of the dragon spewing fire into the air. In the morning, he would resume his post at Éiwyn's bedside.

Her delirium came and went. She passed from fitful sleep to calm repose and back again. He and Dís were quick to take action in what moments of clarity she had to give her broth or water, but she was unfocused and seemed not to know where she was. Conversation of any kind was utterly impossible.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, Dís entered Éiwyn's chamber to give Thorin reprieve from his vigil. She rested her hand on his shoulder, pulling him from his own dark thoughts. Éiwyn tossed her head back and forth and her eyes flit open, seeing nothing. He looked to Dís as from a daze and she nodded for him to go.

"You have not slept," she said.

"I have slept." It was a pointless argument. She knew he could not rest.

"Eat some supper," Dís said as though she were speaking to one of her sons, "and try to sleep. You will need your energy to tend her when she wakes."

"Do you think she _will_ wake?" Thorin asked quietly as he looked up at his sister. He valued Dís's opinion and did not seek empty words of encouragement. He wanted the truth. Although his heart could not help but hope, he feared it was a fool's hope.

"I cannot say," Dís whispered.

Thorin nodded. They could only wait. He turned and strode across the room. He was just closing the chamber door when Éiwyn cried out, "Thorin!"

Immediately he was at her side again. He took her hand in his and searched her face for signs of recovery. "Éiwyn?"

"It's just the fever," Dís told him gently.

"Thorin." Éiwyn shook her head, her face contorted with misery and her eyes shut tight. "Thorin, no. Thorin." It tore at him to hear her speak his name, a thing he had never heard her do before, in such anguish.

"Why does she call for me with such sadness?" What was the meaning of this dream? Was she thinking of him as she knew him in the past? Or was it the future she yet feared?

"Brother." Slowly, Thorin pulled his gaze from Éiwyn and met his sister's eyes. "Do not let the phantoms of her mind affect your own. It is not her speaking, it is the sickness. You know this."

Thorin nodded in resignation and stood to go. The delirium persisted. Éiwyn still called out his name as he closed the door behind him. He passed a hand over his eyes as he walked slowly away from her room.

He knew no peace. As the hours passed, his dread for her grew. At any moment someone may find him to say that Éiwyn was dead. The fever would break within a week, or it would break _her_. It was only a matter of time.

On the sixth day of her fever, Thorin's restlessness could not be contained. The grief he held at bay would consume him if he let it. He stormed through the halls and city streets, not seeing or caring for anything around him. He could not wallow in his misery, he needed activity.

The foreman at the mine entrance seemed to think he could deny Thorin admittance. "My lord Thorin," he said with a touch of nervousness, "surely you would prefer to be in the great hall at this time."

Word of good and bad news alike spread through the town like wildfire. Surely all knew by now that Éiwyn lay ill with dragon sickness. Thorin could not fault the foreman's intentions, but he would not be sent back into the great hall.

"I need occupation." Thorin's voice was a low rage that seemed to startle the foreman. "Show me where you are searching for seams, give me a hammer, and let me be."

Whether the man saw Thorin was not to be crossed, or merely pitied him, he didn't care, but the man relented. He led Thorin far into the mines and gestured to an isolated area that was unworked. Thorin nodded and put on the helmet and outer jacket that had been discarded by the last hewer on the line.

It had been years since he had worked in the mine. Hefting the hammer, he began to swing it against the stone wall. He applied no skill to his work, only brute force. He cared nothing for finding a seam, he only wanted to destroy something, as he felt himself being destroyed. Every swing of the hammer brought a small amount of relief to his anguished mind.

He had little sense of how long he labored this way, all he knew was that by the time he walked out of the mine, his arms were spent and his shirt was soaked through with sweat. He went to his chamber, where he cleaned himself up and changed into fresh clothes. He had just belted his tunic when a knock came on his chamber door.

On opening it, he found a servant woman who nodded a quick curtsy. "My lord," she said, out of breath, "the Lady Dís calls for you."

Thorin grasped the door frame to steel himself against sorrow, dread wrapped tight around his chest. The woman quickly raised her hands in warning. "She bids me tell you it is good news."

It took a moment for her words to sink in and Thorin stared at her in a stupor. He suddenly took her by the shoulders and could have kissed her for joy. His heart, just moments ago dulled by grief and pain, now raced again as he quickly strode the corridor to Éiwyn's room.

He entered the chamber to find her lying in her bed much as she had done for the last week. She seemed in peaceful sleep, undisturbed by visions of past or future. Dís motioned for him to come nearer to the bed. She carefully folded back the neckline of Éiwyn's nightdress to reveal the area just below her collarbone. The rash that had once bloomed in bright red swirls was now fading.

Thorin put his hand on his sister's shoulder to steady himself. "Can this be?" He felt Éiwyn's forehead. Although still warm, the fever waned. He shook his head, unable to believe the alteration. "The healers?"

"They have been summoned." Dís looked up at Thorin mildly, a slight smile about her lips.

"And you?" Thorin asked. "What is your opinion?"

Dís smiled in earnest. "I think the worst has passed."

When the healers arrived, they confirmed Dís's judgment - Éiwyn had passed through the fever. She would recover.

#

Éiwyn came to slowly, her mind waking up little by little. She was dimly aware of a soothing coolness on her forehead and a gentle touch on her hand. She squeezed the hand that held hers as she opened her eyes. She blinked hard until the dark shape in front of her became clearer. A man with long dark hair and sad blue eyes looked back at her. Why did he look on her with such sorrow? Éiwyn's mind woke up at last, and she recognized him.

"Thorin." Her voice was small and hoarse. He smiled slightly at the sound of it. She looked about and knew herself to be in her own chamber, although she did not recognize all the vials and basins set about. She squeezed his hand again, which was answered by his own firm grasp. "What has happened?"

"You have been ill with dragon sickness," Thorin said gently. The words sounded familiar, but she could not remember where she had heard them.

When Éiwyn tried to move, she found she had no strength to do it. Her body ached and her mind was cloudy. Dark memories seemed to shadow her thoughts, as though she had been unhappy but could not remember the reason. She struggled to sit up and Thorin gently moved pillows to support her until she was comfortable.

"How long have I been ill?"

"You have been abed with fever six days. It will be many more before you are completely recovered." He watched her with a combination of tenderness and timidity, as though she might fall back into fever at the slightest word.

"You have been with me," she said softly. Amid her strange thoughts ran a strand of memory of Thorin at her side.

"Yes."

She could do no more than smile faintly and grasp his hand again, but it seemed enough to him.

Dís entered the room and her face lit up when she saw Éiwyn was awake.

"My dear," she said as she approached Éiwyn's other side, "it is so good to see you up again. How do you feel?"

"I hardly know," she said, reclining against the pillows. "I do not feel like myself, yet."

"It is a difficult illness to come through," Dís said, patting her gently on the shoulder.

"Do you want anything?" Thorin asked.

"No," Éiwyn said heavily, "I am only tired."

Dís nodded. "You need your rest. _Real_ rest. We will leave you." Thorin made no move to follow his sister. He held fast to Éiwyn's hand and his gaze never left her face. Dís walked around the bed to take her brother firmly by the arm and made to escort him from the room. "Let her sleep a while," Dís soothed.

Thorin slowly let go Éiwyn's hand and retreated with Dís. He stood in the doorway and looked back at her desperately, as though he could not believe his own eyes. In a low voice, he said, "If you need me, I will be close by."

Éiwyn nodded with a slight smile, and Thorin closed the door softly behind him.

She drifted into true, dreamless sleep.

#

"Thorin." Dwalin approached with one of their scouts. "We found it."

Thorin had been resting in the great hall, waiting for news of Éiwyn from one of the healers. Dís had told him to keep away while Éiwyn slept, but it did not follow that he must hear nothing of how she progressed.

He sat up straighter. "The hive?"

"Aye." Dwalin unrolled a map on a table, which all three men gathered around. He nodded his head toward the scout. "Show him."

"The hive is here, in the northernmost section of the Emyn Uial." The scout pointed to a spot in the hills almost due east from Thornost.

"So close?" Thorin said. "Are you certain?"

"I witnessed the tell-tale disturbances in the hillside, myself," the scout said. "We kept our distance, my lord, for fear of leaving traces of our scent for the orcs to follow. As it was, we lost two men searching the hills, and one other is yet unaccounted for."

The nearness of the hive was disturbing, yet it made perfect sense. When Thorin considered the sites of increased orc raids over the last few years, it suddenly seemed folly not to have considered the Emyn Uial a danger before.

"Any estimate on their numbers?" he asked.

"Judging by the size of the disturbance, the hive may be many thousands."

Thorin looked at Dwalin, whose face betrayed nothing. This was grim news, indeed. His men were too few. If Thornost were emptied of warriors he could amass possibly two thousand men. Even so, it would not be enough against so many orcs. He paced about the hall as he considered what could be done.

That the hive was in the very center of the western lands gave them no choice but to destroy it, even without Nori's news of the orcs' plans. He and his men had often passed through the Emyn Uial on their travels, little thinking a hive could be dangerously close. He had brought Éiwyn through those same hills with only thirty men. The thought of what could have happened on that journey made his blood run cold.

Dwalin dismissed the scout. He approached Thorin, waiting. "What do you think?"

If they could crush the orcs at their source, they might secure peace from raids all through Beleriand and the Arthedain for many years. Ten years ago they had wiped out the hive at Azanulbizar, but at great cost. If they were to fight, they could not fight alone.

"Send messengers to all our neighboring allies. Annúminas, Fornost, Cardolan, all the villages through the Downs. I will write to say that if they value their lives, to send all available soldiers to rally at the northern point of Lake Evéndim in one month's time. We cannot wait for the orcs to wage war against us - we will bring it to their door."


	16. Chapter 16

Éiwyn's strength returned gradually. After she woke, it was another day before she was able to leave her bed, and then only with assistance. On the second day, Dís ordered the chambermaids to fill her tub. Dís bathed Éiwyn herself, which she accepted with gratitude as from a sister.

Thorin visited her during the day and joined her in her chamber for supper. No one had told her explicitly, but she guessed by his solicitous behavior that she had been near death in her illness. Any little sigh or catch of her breath seemed to bring a light of concern to his eyes. The healers came each day to mark her progress and she knew from their remarks that she was improving, yet that news had not seemed to reach Thorin. He watched her as though afraid she might fly away on the breeze.

"Am I past danger?" she asked him one evening. A fire burned low in the hearth to stave off the chill that had touched her since the fever waned. Although it was well past suppertime, the late summer sun was not yet gone from the sky, and they sat at her small table together in the deepening twilight.

Startled from his thoughts, he looked at her strangely a moment before his features softened. "Yes, you are past danger."

"Then why do you watch me with such worry in your eyes?"

He stared at her for a long while as though debating what to say. "You must eat more," he said, ignoring her question. "You need your strength."

"And what of _your_ strength? Your plate cannot be emptier than mine." Éiwyn's tone was playful, but it was true he seemed to have little appetite for his meals.

"Hmm," Thorin grumbled deep in his chest, "perhaps you _have_ eaten enough if you are strong enough to tease."

"I am perhaps stronger in mind than body," she admitted with a small quirk of her mouth.

"And your quick tongue stronger than all." He laughed quietly, but the sound died out in his chest. She watched him curiously until he relented and confessed. "It was never my intention to put you in danger here, Éiwyn. I feel responsible for your illness." She began to contradict him, but he raised a hand. "I knew that tapestry posed a threat, yet I did not destroy it when I had the chance. I might have prevented this had I but acted on what I knew."

"You are not responsible for my illness," she said gently.

"You are being too generous," he scolded. "I hold myself responsible, even if you do not. I ask for your forgiveness."

"Of course you have it." It seemed to Éiwyn an absurd thing to ask, for she did not fall ill at his whims. She understood the guilt he felt, but thought it unnecessary. He smiled slightly at her consent, but his mood did not lighten.

"You are troubled," she said gently as she placed her hand on his where it rested on the table. "Is there more than this that worries you?"

Thorin looked down at Éiwyn's hand and softly caressed her fingertips with his thumb. "I would not speak of war, or battle, or orcs with you, Éiwyn." He smiled grimly, repeating words he spoke to her on her first night in his halls three months past.

Her fingers closed tighter around Thorin's. "Is battle coming?"

"Aye. I must leave in two weeks' time."

"So soon?" Her heart seemed to drop within her chest, so suddenly did dread and fear weigh it down.

One side of Thorin's mouth turned up. "Will my absence offend you?"

Éiwyn smiled involuntarily and averted her eyes out of sheer habit, but squeezed his hand lightly all the same. "Yes, my lord."

"Then I will have something to treasure up for my journey." He lifted her hand and gently kissed her fingers.

#

After a week of restful recovery, Thorin escorted Éiwyn into the great hall for the evening meal. She was still quite weak, a symptom the healers said would take time to dissipate completely. Holding Thorin's arm, she slowly walked through the long, tapestry-lined corridor into the hall.

Hearty cheers rang out when they appeared in the doorway, for the hall was crowded with people of Thornost. Éiwyn saw many of the men from the company that had escorted her across the hills, as well as untold folk of the city.

"What is this?" She looked up at Thorin with wide eyes.

"Your people are celebrating your recovery," he said with obvious pride.

"My people?" Éiwyn glanced about at the happy faces that offered her well wishes and good cheer. Although she once had been used to such attention in Annúminas, it seemed like long ago. It filled her with gratitude to be received with such affection. She waved shyly to the room as Thorin led her to her place of honor at table. One by one, her friends walked up to greet her.

Dís approached and bent down to kiss Éiwyn firmly on each cheek. "We're happy to have you well, my dear."

Fíli took her hand in his. "My lady. I will be honored to resume your sword fighting lessons as soon as you are able."

"You may be at your ease for some time, but I thank you," Éiwyn said with a wry smile.

Kíli bowed low and grinned broadly at her. "Had I not made a solemn oath to you against such things, I might have wagered that you would pull through." She shook her head at his sauciness.

Balin clasped both her hands in his. "How good it is to see you about, my lady."

Dwalin stepped forward and nodded to her. "I knew you'd fight it." He said no more, but his eyes sparkled and it was as though a smile touched his features. This seemed to Éiwyn praise above all the rest, it was so unexpected.

"Thank you for your confidence, Dwalin," she said fondly.

Fern, Bofur, Glóin, and many others passed by Éiwyn's chair to remark on their great joy at her recovery, or how well she looked, or how happy they were to soon have her as mistress of Thornost. One small girl shocked the crowd when she said, "My lady, I'm so glad you didn't die."

Éiwyn grinned at her. "I'm glad of it, too." She tilted her head up to Thorin, who looked on her in admiration.

They passed a pleasant evening among the people in Thorin's halls. Dinner conversation was lively, as each person at Éiwyn's table sought to acquaint her with all the little news of the city she had missed in her absence. It was a blessing just to sit and listen to her friends regale her with stories of their everyday doings. Most of the city must know of the battle that loomed on the horizon, but no one spoke a word of it, much to her relief. She enjoyed their reunion and gave little thought to future separations.

For a while at least, Thorin, too, seemed to forget the upcoming battle. He spoke with men of the city with decided interest and an almost casual air that he had not had on his visits to Annúminas. Éiwyn had never considered the difference it might make to a man to be among his own people rather than with strangers abroad. Watching him as he moved among the townsfolk, she thought how different he seemed now than he had in years past. He carried none of the arrogance she had once perceived, only proper pride as leader of a thriving city.

Fern approached and sat with Éiwyn. "My lady, how are you coming along?"

"I am much improved," she said earnestly, taking Fern's hand in hers. "I have not had a chance to thank you for tending me when I fell in the gardens. You were very kind to me, and I don't think I quite knew what I was about." That morning was a blur in her memory, but she remembered the look of worry on Fern's face, and asking her to find Thorin.

"Oh, you don't have to thank me for that, my lady. You were ill and in need, what else could I have done?"

"All the same, I could not have asked for a more attentive friend, and I thank you." She squeezed Fern's hand and looked past her to where Bofur loitered not far behind, chatting easily. "It seems you have a shadow," she said softly.

Fern turned her gaze to Bofur a moment and grinned. "Oh, aye. It took him long enough. I've been hoping to catch his attention for a while. Now that I have it, well, I don't aim to let him go."

"I am happy for you both."

Fern quickly took her leave and returned to Bofur's side in the crowd. Éiwyn caught Thorin watching her and she smiled easily at him. It seemed wherever he went in the hall that evening, his eyes regularly turned to observe her. They no longer bore that pained expression she had seen so often in the first days of her recovery. Rather than looking on her in fear and dread, it seemed he watched her for the joy of it. His attentions caused a surge of nervous exhilaration to ripple through her each time their eyes met.

The celebration continued long past dinner and into the night. Finally, the party began to break up and the jolly revelers headed their separate ways, bidding Éiwyn farewell in turn. As the hall emptied, Thorin was at her side again, ready to walk her back to her room. She took his offered arm and leaned on it heavily, betraying her fatigue.

"Has this been too much for you?" he asked.

"Not at all. I have enjoyed myself."

Thorin looked on her with a critical eye until she laughed and relented. "I _am_ tired, I will admit that. But I admit no more."

He laughed, too, and they walked through the hall as slowly as she had need. She was grateful for the support of Thorin's arm as her tired muscles struggled to carry her along. They were nearly to her chamber when her head began to swim and her vision darkened. She clung to his arm and pressed one hand over her eyes.

Thorin wrapped his arms around her to prevent her from falling. "Éiwyn?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.

One hand against his chest, the other still over her eyes, Éiwyn shook her head slightly. This was not the first time during her recovery that she had felt lightheaded. The feeling was unsettling but usually passed quickly. "I just need a moment."

It was not long before the swimming sensation eased and she felt like herself again. She brought her hand down from her eyes to rest it alongside the other on Thorin's chest.

"Are you all right?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that reverberated through her fingers. Éiwyn could not look up at him but only nodded, her eyes on the laces of his tunic. Held tight against his chest, a blush came over her, for they had never been so close before. She felt his breath in her hair, the touch of his hands through her dress, the warmth of him radiating everywhere.

They stood so, neither speaking nor moving, until she could bear it no longer. She sensed he was waiting for her - to do what, she didn't know. Once again, she did the only thing she felt she could. She took one of his braids in her hand and fingered the long, smooth plait.

With utter gentleness, Thorin reached up and softly ran his fingers through her hair. She had taken to wearing it down, in the style of the women of the Ered Luin and his fingers moved unhindered. He slowly caressed her hair, from the top of her head, down over her shoulders and to her back, again and again until it seemed her head was swimming once more.

"Éiwyn," he said in a fervent whisper. Finally, she looked up at him. His pale eyes burned with a desire for her that she had never seen before. Her heart raced as she watched his gaze move from her eyes down to her mouth. Her breath quickened, his head inching nearer until, suddenly, she drew away from him. It was a small movement, but it did not go unnoticed.

His eyes ranged over her face as though searching for something. He stroked her hair again, but relaxed his firm embrace and slowly released her. He took both her hands in his and kissed them tenderly, twice each, his eyes fixed on hers. "Goodnight, Éiwyn."

Unable to find her voice, she merely nodded and stepped inside her chamber. He bowed to her and departed down the corridor.

Éiwyn reeled onto her bed, overcome by elation and distress. It was not only his desire she had shied away from, but the awakening of her own. The force of her feelings for Thorin took her by surprise, unsought yet undeniable. She quickly changed into her nightdress and climbed into bed, her skin still tingling from the memory of his touch. Before falling asleep, she pressed her lips to her hands where Thorin had kissed them.

#

As Éiwyn's strength returned, so, too did she return to her old habits. While she was not yet ready to spar with Fíli or shoot with Kíli, she was perfectly able to sit in the kitchens and shell peas or husk corn beside Dís. She regularly ate in the great hall again, rather than cloistered in her own room, and slowly but surely, her daily walks ranged farther afield.

These walks were often taken with Thorin, who seemed to think Éiwyn would recover best outside in the fresh air. Holding fast to his arm to steady herself, they ambled all through the vegetable gardens, orchards, and eventually out into the stand of trees that came down the mountainside within Thornost's walls.

They sat together, resting in the shade of a tree on the outskirts of the city. He had brought a blanket for them to sit on and a small lunch of bread, cheese, and fruit. The gesture was a welcome surprise and yet another reminder that she did not know half the mysteries of the man beside her.

Happy as these times with Thorin were, fear gnawed at her. Battle was coming and it could not be stopped. The time had nearly come for Thorin to depart, and although she tried not to dwell on it, she dreaded the day of their separation as a coming doom.

The anxiety she felt must have been written in her expression as she stared fixedly at the city. "What is it?" he asked gently.

She shook her head, unsure she should voice her concerns. "You do not wish to speak to me of such things." She was betrayed by the tremble in her voice as much as the sentiment.

"You worry." It was not a question. She nodded. "You worry for me?" The way his voice turned, he seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Of course I do, Thorin, how can I not?" The frustration she had kept concealed tumbled out at last. "You leave to fight a battle I know not where in but a few days' time, against an unknown foe with uncertain numbers. Of course I worry."

She exhaled sharply, glancing sideways at him to assess how he took this outburst. His face was grave as he watched her long moments.

"I keep this matter separate from you in hopes you will not fear," he said slowly, as though reluctant to admit it, "yet my very silence causes you fear." His frown turned into a grim sort of smile. "It seems I cannot win."

He sighed and turned his eyes from hers to look upon the city. "There is an orc hive in the Emyn Uial. It is large, possibly larger than the one at Azanulbizar. I have called for reinforcements from allies in all the western lands. If we can destroy it, we may win ourselves peace from the wretched creatures for many years." He sighed again, whether in dread of the foe or relief in his confession, Éiwyn could not tell.

"The hive may be bigger than Azanulbizar?" she asked quietly. Thorin nodded confirmation. "But you almost...you might have..." She couldn't speak it. Defeating the orcs at Azanulbizar took every soldier Thornost had, and even so, they nearly lost the battle. Countless men died that day at the hands of orcs.

Thorin looked back to Éiwyn and groaned on seeing her ashen face. "And now I have only given you more to fear." He took her hands in both of his. "Éiwyn, we will defeat this foe." Despite his confidence, the images from the tapestry of Azanulbizar roiled in her mind.

"Éiwyn, please," he said, kissing her knuckles gently, "put this from your thoughts. Try to think of pleasant things."

"Pleasant things?" she asked with an incredulous look. He was trying to soothe her but how could she be soothed after hearing such news? "If you wish me to think of pleasant things, then you must tell me something pleasant." A half-hearted attempt at a smile was on her lips as she tried in vain to conceal how this news had affected her. A hive as great as the one at Azanulbizar could not be easily forgotten.

"Tell you something pleasant," he mused. Thorin gave her a wide smile that crinkled his eyes at the corners, and that alone was almost enough to make all her worries scatter in the wind. "I will tell you of the Mirrormere, of Kheled-zâram.

"After the orc hive was destroyed at Azanulbizar, we stayed on in Khazad-dûm to take our rest, tend our wounded, and mourn our dead. I had long heard of the beauty of the Mirrormere, and I desired to see it. I hoped that seeing such a wondrous thing might bring me peace in the losses I suffered."

He did not speak it, but Éiwyn knew that Fíli and Kíli's father had died in the battle, among many others. None in Thornost had mentioned him or even spoken his name to her. She guessed their grief in his loss was still too great to bear speaking of.

"The Mirrormere is a lake at the bottom of the valley below the mountain Caradhras. It is surrounded by lush green grass, softer than any I've seen in all my travels. The lake is of deepest blue, deeper still than the stone you wear." Thorin reached up and lightly touched her necklace, his fingertips just brushing her skin.

"It is said that in ancient days, Durin himself, my ancestor, looked into the Mirrormere. I, too, wished to look. I walked to the very edge of the pool and gazed into the water."

He paused for a moment as though lost in memory. Éiwyn listened with rapt attention, for she had rarely heard him give so long a speech and she found the rich sound of his voice mesmerizing.

"In the surface, I saw the perfect reflection of the Misty Mountains as a crown all around me. In the center of the lake where I should have seen blue sky, I saw black night and glittering stars, as though the sky itself had fallen away into the Mirrormere and led on into forever. It was all I could do not to fall in from looking."

He paused so long, it seemed he had reached the end of his tale. Éiwyn gazed at him in awestruck wonder. "That's beautiful," she said. "I had no idea you could speak this way."

One corner of his mouth turned up. "What way?"

"With such an appreciation for beauty."

Thorin tucked a strand of hair behind Éiwyn's ear. "You did not know I could appreciate beauty?"

Éiwyn smiled and looked away but her eyes quickly returned to his. "It's a wonderful story. I loved hearing you tell it."

"Then I will tell you another." He took her hand into his again and lightly caressed it as he spoke. "Deep in the mountains behind us there is a secluded waterfall of surpassing beauty. The River Lhûn is fed by two mountain streams that tumble about on their own paths, insensible of each other yet each irrevocably drawn to the other. When they are finally set free to flow together in the waterfall, it is breathtaking. They become one river, stronger than they were when they were apart. No force can stop them on their journey to the sea." Thorin's eyes ranged over her face. "I will take you there one day."

Éiwyn's heart raced at his touch, at his words, at the sound of his voice. She closed her hand on his, interlacing their fingers. Gazing into his pure blue eyes, it was as though she, too, gazed into the Mirrormere, and she feared she might fall in from looking. He reached up and grazed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"Must you go?" she whispered. She hated her weakness, but felt she had to ask, if only once. She would not be parted from him, if it were hers to decide.

"Would you have me stay behind?" he asked pointedly.

She sighed, knowing that for him, to stay would be to cower. "No," she said, "but neither would I have you go."

"I must choose one. I would go where I may fight to protect those I love."

#

Thorin met with his closest advisors to plan their attack on the hive in the Emyn Uial. Thornost's army had not been rallied and emptied from the city since the siege on Azanulbizar. Most of the able-bodied men had fought orcs with one company or another in the last ten years, but few had seen regular battle and many of the younger men had seen none at all. War on an orc hive was not where he would have those boys cut their teeth, but in this he had no choice.

"What news from the messengers?" he asked Dwalin. "Will our allies stand with us?"

"Annúminas, Fornost, Cardolan, and Dunland are with us," Dwalin said as he laid a sheaf of papers upon the table the men were seated around. "All told, they promise nearly four thousand troops."

This was more than Thorin had dared hope. He knew they would not send their full armies, as he was prepared to do, but when combined it would be enough. "We have nearly two thousand among us," he said. "When amassed, we may be twice the number of our enemy."

"If the estimate was correct," Dwalin pointed out. "There'll be no way of knowing that until we're in the middle of it."

Thorin nodded gravely. Dwalin was right to be cautious. The hive at Azanulbizar had been grossly underestimated and it was nearly the ruin of them all. "What of the larger villages in the Downs and the Weather Hills?"

"They may only amount to a few hundred men."

"We'll have use for every man who can be spared."

"And what of the women?" Dwalin asked. "I have word that at least three hundred of our own are willing to fight with us."

"I want them to stay here."

Dwalin snorted. "They won't like that."

"I know. But if we have miscalculated, if the orcs march against the city, we cannot leave our walls undefended. We need them here." He studied Fíli and Kíli. "I could use a volunteer or two to captain those warriors who remain."

Stern glances passed between Fíli and Kíli before they looked back at him in defiant silence. They would not be left behind so easily. Thorin had not expected them to take him up on the offer, but he felt he must voice it all the same. Their father had died fighting alongside him at Azanulbizar. He could not bear the thought of losing either of his nephews in the same way, but he would not attempt to force them to stay in Thornost.

Balin spoke up. "I would be honored to captain the army on the home front," he said with a decisive nod.

"Thank you, Balin," Thorin said. "You have seen more than your share of battle, and will serve Thornost well." Fíli clapped Balin on the back in apparent admiration. Balin had seen many winters, but he still knew what he was about when it came to fighting orcs.

Thorin looked around the table at the loyal men who were willing to follow him into an orc hive, some for the second time. He was proud of these men for their bravery and honor. He only hoped it would be enough.

"To the rest of you, I have seen what it is we would face. If you will follow me into such darkness, I will be proud to stand alongside you as brothers, as we fight to protect our homes and the lives of our loved ones." The men at table stood and gave a rallying cheer. They would follow him and fight, to whatever end.


	17. Chapter 17

Before Éiwyn could consider herself ready, the day had come for Thorin's forces to march out to Lake Evéndim. Their army was nearly two thousand strong, which would combine with thousands of their allies before striking the orc hive in the northern Emyn Uial. She was still numb to the notion that she had grown up at the foot of the very hills where thousands of orcs lay hidden.

At dawn of the army's departure, Éiwyn stood with Dís at the outer gate to bid their farewells. Most of the army had already emptied from the city and stood in the wildflower fields, waiting for Thorin. She had never before seen such a number of soldiers, and thought them daunting, even at a distance. The sight of them gave her confidence, but it was tempered by the current of fear that ran through her. She thought Thorin the most skilled warrior in all the western lands, but even so, an orc hive would not be easily destroyed.

Dís said her goodbyes to Fíli and Kíli. "Fight hard," she told them each in turn. She wept no tears, but made them promise to return to her. They embraced their mother and solemnly gave their oaths that they would come back home. The brothers were no strangers to battle, yet standing before their mother, they looked entirely too young to face death with such stoicism.

Thorin kissed his sister on the forehead. She pressed her palm against his cheek and nodded acceptance. "Fight hard." Dís looked into his eyes one last time and stepped back among the crowd.

It was then time for Thorin to bid his farewell to Éiwyn. He stood before her in layers of chain and scale mail. Every spot where shirt or skin was visible seemed horribly vulnerable to orc blade, arrow, or teeth. She could not dwell on these thoughts, however, for he took both her hands in his and kissed them, just as he had done that night in the corridor.

"Fight hard," she said as Dís had done. The slightest smile crossed his features and he nodded. It seemed he would go, but she held his hands all the tighter, pulling him closer to her. She knew why he would go and she could think of no one better to lead the combined armies, but still she did not want to release him. "Promise," she whispered. "Promise to return to me."

Thorin leaned down until their foreheads pressed together. She closed her eyes, willing the moment to endure. She tried to memorize the feel of his skin, the warmth of his scent, the sound of his breathing. She would need every last memory of him to carry her through until they met again.

"I promise I will return to you," he vowed in his rich, deep voice. He pressed her fingers to his lips again and held them there as though he, too, sought to etch the moment in memory. She couldn't help herself - she pulled her hands from his lips and quickly pressed her mouth to his. The kiss was awkward and briefer than either of them would have chosen, but their time for goodbyes had run out.

He gazed at her with those steel blue eyes that always pierced her so. "Nothing will keep me from you." This vow was lower and more urgent than his last. Finally, he drew himself away from her and quickly mounted his horse. With Dwalin, Fíli and Kíli close behind, Thorin rode out of the gates to meet the army.

Horns rang out among the warriors as their ranks assembled. Riding due east, they departed at speed and were lost to Éiwyn's sight in but a few minutes. She felt Thorin's departure as a part of herself ripping away. Long after the gates closed, she remained steady, gazing into the distance.

#

Dís had told her not to look for the men's return for several weeks. Éiwyn sought work everywhere she was able in a futile effort to speed the time along. On any given day she could be found helping out with harvest in the gardens, baking in the kitchens, or absently sewing from the mending basket. She felt like the Precocious Princess all over again, for it seemed no one was safe from her well-meaning, if sometimes misplaced offers of assistance. Even so, she found little relief from her dark thoughts.

In Annúminas, Éiwyn had experienced few troubles and had never been one to let worry get the better of her. Certainly she could not have envisioned a time when the man she was betrothed to would ride into the kind of danger Thorin now faced. The one day of fretting she experienced when he had ridden into the mountains was now compounded by both the length of his absence and the far greater threat. She had faith in his abilities, yet her fears for him seemed a tangible thing.

Since nearly all the able-bodied men of the city had departed to battle, all those left behind had someone they loved among the army, be it husband, brother, son. She might easily have found someone to commiserate with in her worries, but she rarely spoke of them, for fear of opening floodgates that could not then be closed. She tried to keep the idea fixed in her mind that Thorin was only on a journey, and resisted thinking much of the battle to come. Yet each evening on her way to her chamber, she would pass the tapestry of Azanulbizar and gaze at the threaded image of a triumphant Thorin surrounded by dead orcs. How she hoped for such another victory.

One day she led herself to the practice room, which now lay silent and abandoned. She stood in the center of the room, overcome by the memory of sparring with Thorin. His passionate declarations echoed through her as though he had spoken them anew. Only now that he was far away from her did she understand the depths of her own feelings for him. Fondness, affection, tenderness - she could no longer fool herself with such weak words. It was love that had taken root in her heart and grown fast there. How she wished to go back in time and speak the truth of those feelings. Even as he rode to war, she had not declared herself to him, and she despised her own cowardice.

Taking up a dull practice sword, she raged against one of the dummies. She struck it with all the force of her regret and anguish, no longer willing to hold anything back. Why had she resisted him? Why had she been so blind? If he would but return, she would prove herself worthy and requiting of his love. Again and again she brought the sword down upon the poor burlap form until it finally burst, spilling straw onto the floor. Lungs heaving, she stared at the broken dummy with a sense of emptiness. It was not her rage she wished to set free, but her heart.

"It seems you've quite killed it." Éiwyn spun around to find Balin in the doorway, watching her with twinkling eyes.

"Oh, I..." she trailed off, looking from the spent dummy to Balin, not knowing what to say of her actions.

He stepped into the room, shaking his head with a kindly look on his face. "No need to explain, my lady. You needed to kill something, it needed killing. A perfect arrangement, if you ask me." She smiled at him, grateful for his understanding.

"A burlap dummy can only teach you so much," he mused. "How would you like to practice with a real partner?"

From that day on, Éiwyn spent a part of each afternoon in training with Balin. It felt like a connection to Thorin to hold a sword, even a dull one, and it pleased her to learn to protect herself as he had wished. Despite Balin's age, he managed to have her practice harder than she ever had done before. She had not thought Fíli to be particularly soft on her, but she had no frame of reference until she sparred with Balin. He struck her, harder than Thorin's teasing hits had been, but the sting of them gave her greater incentive to improve her parrying.

Her attacks grew in strength and skill, as well. It was not that she was more willing to strike Balin than she had been Fíli, but that he was so much more insistent that she should do so. He refused to let her leave the training room without getting one good hit on him. As a result, some afternoons they sparred far longer than she would have preferred while she desperately worked to achieve her goal.

She drank deeply from a mug of water after one especially exhausting session. Little seeming to feel the exertion, Balin walked about the room, carefully putting away the equipment they had used. Wiping her forehead with the back of her hand, she said, "Do you know, I think you're an even better instructor than Fíli?"

"I ought to be," he returned with an indignant laugh, "I trained him."

"Truly?"

"Oh, aye. And Kíli, too, although he was a right handful. He was more interested in flourishing the sword about than using it for proper practice." He waved his hand around in the air for effect. They laughed together over Kíli as Balin sat down at her side. She could imagine how difficult it must have been to keep such a one on task.

"And who trained Thorin?" Her breath caught after saying his name, and it seemed all the conflicting emotions she kept pressed down inside her were on the verge of rushing out into the light.

Balin smiled to himself as though thinking of days long past. "His father, Thráin, taught him all he knew. You can imagine how Thorin set himself to the task. He learned still more from everyone he could, myself included, for he never wanted to be caught unprepared in battle."

Éiwyn nodded and swallowed hard, unprepared, herself, for how speaking of Thorin would affect her. It was like a knife that gave both pleasure and pain as it cut, and she could hardly tell which sensation was the stronger.

Balin placed a hand on her shoulder. "Take courage, my lady. Thorin Oakenshield is not one to be easily cut down by a mere orc."

#

The armies of men began their siege against the hive in the Emyn Uial at daybreak. The bizarre outcroppings that indicated orcs had burrowed caves below were massive and stretched out over the hillside, throwing trees askew in their wake. Thorin clutched his shield and spear all the tighter at the sight of it, but he did not quail. It hardly mattered whose numbers were greater now - war was upon all.

The orcs must have heard the rumble of their horses' approach through the earth, for they began to pour from the hive entrance in droves. Hundreds of the creatures rushed forth in great, loping strides to form ranks before their holes. As yet, Thorin saw none of the giant orcs like they had fought at Azanulbizar but thousands of any sort would be enough of a challenge.

Behind him, the army of men were massed, waiting for his signal. He thrust his spear high into the air, and horns of men rang out all around him. To his right, a legion of archers loosed a volley that brought down a hundred orcs at least. As the archers prepared for a second round, a host of gray orcs rushed from hidden tunnels towards the army's southern flank.

"Nori," Thorin shouted, "take your men south! Collapse that tunnel!" They must find and destroy all the side passageways before any orcs could slink off undetected. He would not have survivors left to form new nests if he could help it, but the task was near impossible with a hive that ranged so far across the hills. Nori led several hundred men to meet the coming orcs, impaling with their spears and slashing with their swords. Thorin knew his army's careful advance was soon to become a melee as men and orcs rushed together.

Orcs continued to spill forth from the mouth of their cave to meet the men in battle. They were dressed in filthy clothing and wore armor made of animal hides, bone, and crude iron plates. Some of the creatures wore chain mail stolen from men they had killed. All were hideous, with deformed faces, yellow eyes, and jagged fangs. Some spoke the common tongue, others the black speech of their kind. It made little difference, as none sought to parley with him. Certainly there were no terms to be agreed upon - each side sought death, and death only.

As he rode into their midst, Thorin stuck his spear into an orc's chest. In its dying throes, the orc managed to unhorse him, pulling Thorin down hard beside it. He took up his battle axe and strode into the fray. He swung the axe in great sweeping arcs, slicing through armor and into orc flesh with each pass.

A gray orc rushed upon him and struck him hard with its sword, but Thorin's mail held. Before he could even regain his breath, he slashed at the orc, lopping off its head. Other men had dismounted or been thrown from their horses and engaged the orcs on foot alongside him. They progressed slowly towards the main entrance of the hive, their swords singing in the air as they went. He tried in vain to catch a glimpse of Fíli or Kíli. He had not intended to be so separated from his nephews.

Arrows sailed over their heads and brought down the orcs at the front of the ranks until the dead creatures formed an outcropping of their own. When one orc fell, another would rear its ugly head to replace it. Thorin could see their ghastly mouths filled with black teeth as they foamed and roared at the company. This had no effect on him as he hacked away at them. He was struck more than once, but the minor injuries were quickly forgotten as he lost himself to the rage of battle. Wiping sweat from his brow, he saw that his hand returned bloody, although he was not aware of receiving a wound to his scalp.

Marking time during battle was utterly impossible. Some moments rushed by in an instant and it seemed Thorin had killed a hundred orcs in as many minutes. Other moments dragged on slowly, as though every cursed sight and foul smell sought to be committed to his memory whether he wished it or no. He had no notion how long they fought on the hillside, all he knew was that the fighting continued.

As he struggled past an orc corpse, he felt a white-hot pain in his right foot. The orc was not yet dead and had stabbed him in the only place it could reach, cackling with its dying breath. Before his axe could come down upon the creature's neck, an arrow appeared in its skull. Thorin turned to see Kíli rushing up to him.

"Are you all right?" the younger man asked, glancing with worry at Thorin's foot.

He pulled the orc dagger from his boot and cast it upon the ground. The blade had pierced his foot just behind the metal tip of the boot. It was painful, but he could yet walk on it. For now, that was all the assessment he could afford to give it.

"It's fine," he said. Kíli looked down at Thorin's foot again, apparently not trusting his uncle's word. "It can be tended later," Thorin said. "Let's go."

Orc after orc streamed from the hive. The count was beyond Thorin's reckoning, but he pushed ahead, bringing down the filth as he went. It felt good to fight side by side with Kíli, who took down many a foe with his sword. Thorin was reminded of the boys' father but pushed the memory from him. He turned that pain against the orcs and fought all the harder.

When it seemed they were routing the orcs at the main hole of the hive, a horn rang out to the north where warriors from Annúminas fought. A host of orcs had emptied from another tunnel and rallied against the men. They shot small, black arrows into the army, and many men were struck down.

Thorin spied Fíli's golden head among the warriors. Fighting two orcs at once, Fíli thrust his sword into one's ribcage. Thorin rushed towards his nephew but the distance was too great. Time seemed to still while he watched helplessly as the second orc stabbed Fíli in the chest. He heard Kíli cry out his brother's name and then saw an arrow lodge in the orc's head before it fell dead.

His memories of the boys' father dying at his side at Azanulbizar came upon him in full force. Thorin went into a rage, hacking at orcs with abandon. He left a slew of them in his wake as he made his way to his nephew, his axe never stopping as he rent them piece by piece. His mind was emptied of all but thoughts of revenge and blood.

Finally he reached Fíli and knelt beside him. Fíli turned his blue eyes up to his uncle, one hand clutching at his chest and the other his sword. The orc's dagger had missed its mark - the wound lay above Fíli's heart, but he would need to be tended immediately if he were to survive it. He had already lost a deal of blood, but he could be cared for if they could reach the fall back position.

"Get your brother out of here," Thorin told Kíli.

Kíli helped his brother to stand. Fíli groaned from the effort but he seemed able to keep his footing. As Kíli propped his shoulder beneath Fíli's arm, he told Thorin, "I'm coming back."

"No!" Thorin's shout was fierce. "No," he said again with more control. "I can't lose two more of my kin to an orc hive. You've done well, both of you. Go." Kíli opened his mouth to speak but Thorin cut him off. "Your brother needs attention. Get out of here, _now_."

He turned his back on them, unwilling to argue the point. He quickly set his axe against the orcs that had approached during their brief inattention, and made short work of them. He looked back once, to see his nephews struggling away from the worst of the fighting.

Orc bodies lay dead everywhere, as did many men. Some orcs were retreating, but the armies of the west engaged them as they fled. He caught sight of Dwalin, who seemed to be in a rage of his own as he cut down orcs with abandon. Wide-eyed, the orcs in his path were killed before they could think to escape his wrath.

The awful sound of an orc horn rent the air. A horde of them had amassed to form ranks before the cave. Thorin guessed there to be several hundred, armed with iron spears and swords, marching as one unit. At a signal, dozens of orc arrows arced into the air, striking his armies.

The men, scattered over the hillside, must rally and fight as one. "To me!" Thorin shouted into the fray, unsheathing his sword and holding it aloft. "To me!" Men on foot and horseback gathered at his call and soon fell in line, ready to charge the orc army.

"To arms! To axes!" The men echoed his battle cry in a fierce yell. Leading them into the fray, Thorin ran towards the orcs, shouting, "Death is upon you!"


	18. Chapter 18

_Thorin lay dead upon the hillside. A great, pale orc stood over him, its jagged black sword held aloft in triumph. The orc's harsh laughter echoed through the valley. She howled in grief but no sound came from her throat._

Éiwyn struggled from the nightmare as though a part of it held fast and refused to release her. When she finally opened her eyes, she strained to look about in the darkness. The pale light of her window let her know she was in her own chamber. Her heart pounded as she pressed her palm over her eyes and tried to banish the dream from her thoughts. For days now her sleep had been uneasy, filled with nightmares of pale orcs and death in the mountains. Waking brought little relief, as the images remained fresh in her mind to plague her by day.

She climbed out of bed and went to the window. The light of dawn was just breaking on the horizon. The fields below yet appeared black, the river a shimmering haze in the darkness. _Where are you, Thorin?_

More than a month had passed since Thorin and his army set forth to the Emyn Uial. The day the armies meant to strike the hive had come and gone but still no word had come from the east. Balin sent scouts ranging over the plains each day in hopes of catching sight of them. The gesture was well meant, but served to build hope each morning as the scouts departed, only to have it dashed again when they returned in the evening without news.

"This is the earliest we could have expected their return," Balin told her that afternoon. She was having trouble focusing on her training and it was not difficult for him to guess the reason. "To be sure, the armies are so close to Annúminas, they may have taken rest there after the battle, as they have often done in days past."

He could have no idea his reassurance only caused her more pain. She needed little incentive to think of Thorin's visits to Annúminas, for in his absence she sought out every memory of him she could recollect. Her indifference then made her earliest memories of him nothing more than a vague image in her mind, a stern mystery whose presence she could little recall.

Over time, her memories of him became more clear, although no less stern, until the last Tournament in Annúminas, when everything she thought she knew of Thorin turned upside down. How many times had she brooded over his anguished proposal? How many times did she recall his every touch and caress? She pored over and examined every conversation, every glance, each subtle eyebrow raise or quirk of his mouth. Memory was not enough. She wanted _him_ , whole and entire.

#

Éiwyn often stood on the top step of the blue stone hall, looking towards the spot on the horizon where she had lost sight of the army all those weeks ago. Her eyes would play tricks on her and she seemed to see figures in the distance. Each time, she would hold her breath as she waited for signs of movement which did not come. Then she would sigh in disappointment and scan the horizon again.

Of course Thorin would return. _He must._

Dís approached and stood at her side, gazing into the valley with her. She reached out and lightly put her hand on Éiwyn's arm. "How are you holding up?"

Éiwyn looked into Dís's eyes, which were so like Thorin's, and smiled apologetically. "I fear I am not so patient as I should be."

Dís laughed softly. "None of us are." Éiwyn had no response to this and turned back to watch the horizon.

Dís seemed to have the same tolerance for silence that Thorin had, and stood at her side gazing into the distance for long minutes. Finally, she spoke again. "Come. I have something for you." Éiwyn slowly turned her gaze from the fields and walked beside Dís, her face a mask of stoic acceptance.

As they walked through the great hall to Éiwyn's room, Dís cast appraising glances at her. "It's possible I overstep," she said gently, "but I think not."

On opening the door of her chamber, Éiwyn saw a beautiful dress laid out across her bed. A little gasp escaped her lips at the magnificence of it. The dress was soft silk velvet of the palest blue, with a wide neck and long flowing sleeves. The neckline, sleeves, and skirt were all hemmed with shining silver embroidery.

It was breathtaking. Éiwyn knelt by the bed and took the fabric in her fingers, lightly touching the silver embellishments. As she looked closer, she realized the silver embroidery was Thorin's sigil worked in a continuous loop around the dress. She understood immediately that it was meant for the ceremony that would bind them together as husband and wife.

"This is too wonderful," she whispered, taking in the beauty of the dress.

Dís remained in the doorway as she watched Éiwyn. "I'm glad it pleases you."

"How could it not? I could not have asked for a more perfect gown."

"For a time, I wasn't entirely sure you wanted such a thing." Dis's words bore no judgment. Éiwyn could only imagine how her early interactions with Thorin must have appeared to his sister's eyes. Her stomach twisted as she thought of every lost opportunity to return his affection.

"I do want it, Dís, more than anything."

Dís smiled kindly on her. "Only a blind fool could not see that, now. If I had any doubts, I'd not have given it to you." Éiwyn gazed down at the dress again, feeling the soft velvet between her fingertips. Dís came into the room to take one of the hems up into her hand. "I, too, have needed ways to keep myself occupied while I wait for the ones I love."

Éiwyn looked at her in wonder. "Did you do this?"

"Just the embroidery." She ran her finger over the sigils she had so intricately sewn. "I thought it fitting."

Éiwyn stood and hugged the older woman tight. "Oh, thank you, Dís. Thank you."

"It's my pleasure," Dís said as she returned Éiwyn's heartfelt embrace.

It was not the dress itself, but the tacit expectation of Thorin's return for which Éiwyn was most grateful. She would never have asked such a question, but to have it answered with such confidence bore her up during the agonizing wait.

#

To relieve her restlessness, Éiwyn often took herself to the orchards, where the trees now hung heavy with fruit. She would sit in the dappled sun and allow herself the indulgence of imagining a life at Thorin's side. If the armies were successful in wiping out the orc hive, they could win years of reprieve from raids, as he had said. He would not need to always roam, defending the countryside. They could stay in Thornost, together. Once, on her first day in the city, she could not picture her life with Thorin. Now, she could not bear to think of it without him.

Months ago in that same spot, he had offered to release her from their betrothal. She had said she did not wish to leave, but in truth, a small part of her had. She was upbraiding herself for her foolishness when the horns on the outer walls rang loud and clear. Half thinking they were a dream, Éiwyn froze where she stood, waiting for the return call from the army. It sounded, quieter as from a great distance, but even so she could hear the peal.

Breathless, she rushed out of the orchard and along the narrow garden paths toward the great halls. It seemed every last resident of Thornost streamed through the lanes, seeking to reach the gates even as they gradually opened wide. Éiwyn's progress was slowed among the crowd, but still she pushed forward. She would not lag behind on the lanes this time. Pressed behind the people of the city, someone shouted, "Let through the Lady of Thornost!" She would not have called attention to herself, but was immensely grateful for whoever did as a small path opened up for her among the crowd.

When at last she reached the front of the throngs, she found Dís and went to her side. She smiled and briefly took her hand, but a flash of worry appeared in Dís's eyes. Éiwyn understood - they could little hope the army returned unscathed after battling an orc hive. Losses were inevitable. Not every loved one waiting at the gates would return to their homes with lighter hearts. Some would be shattered beyond repair.

Her own heart hammered away as the army drew closer, a massive blot of brown on the horizon. From this distance it was impossible to tell if their numbers were diminished. As she watched and waited, her chest roiled with a liquid fear.

 _Where are you?_

As they drew nearer, a small knot of horses split off from the larger army and rode directly toward the gates. Thorin should be among these few. At first it was difficult for her to tell one rider from another, although she never stopped scanning them. Éiwyn squinted and shook her head as she gazed into the distance, unable to tell the men apart.

Dís must have had keener eyes than Éiwyn, for she said her sons' names with relief and joy as she found them each in turn. Éiwyn strained her eyes and clutched at her chest, her fingers twisting around her necklace in agitation. It seemed she could barely breathe. Finally, she could distinguish them. There was Dwalin, his bald head and great mustache made plain. Fíli's golden hair now stood out. And at the front of the small group, between Fíli and Kíli, rode their uncle.

"Thorin." She clasped her hands in elation. The moment seemed to slow as she waited desperately for them to draw nearer. The men's horses could not ride to the gates fast enough for her. She took a few steps forward. Suddenly she left the people at the gates behind her, running full speed toward the men as they advanced. Down the road and into the wildflower fields she flew, thinking nothing of her safety or propriety. She had nothing at all in her mind but Thorin Oakenshield.

She ran, clutching her skirts, while he dismounted and started walking towards her, apart from the others. When she was close enough to see the smile on his face, the tears Éiwyn had held back for so long flowed freely. He had red marks from healing wounds about his cheeks and forehead, but otherwise he seemed entirely sound. She ran at him full speed, never slowing until she leapt into his open arms. Thorin caught her up and held her close against his chest. She sobbed in relief as she pressed her face against the skin of his neck, taking in the warmth of his scent. He was truly home.

"Thorin, Thorin," she cried for joy, holding him tight. She wanted to intertwine herself with him and never let go. Her fingers were in his hair and she peppered his neck and jaw with kisses until he made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a growl and his mouth at last found hers. She returned his kiss, utterly lost to the delicious sensations. All the passion and longing she had carefully kept locked away was finally set free. As desire overwhelmed her, she knew she would hold herself back from him no longer.

They kissed and clung to each other for long moments, insensible to the cheers that rang out among his men and the crowds at the gates. When they finally drew apart from each other, he stroked her hair and held her face in his hand.

"What are these tears for?" he asked softly as he wiped her wet cheek with his thumb.

Éiwyn looked up into the pale blue eyes she had so longed to see again. "My beloved is home." A look of triumph lit Thorin's face. She could wait no more to make her amends, in word as well as deed. "I love you, Thorin, I want to be your wife, as soon as may- " He stopped her mouth with another kiss.

#

The harvest festival in Thornost was all Dís had promised it would be. The entire city turned out to partake in a wonderful assortment of food, dancing, and merriment of all kinds. There were contests of skill and strength, exhibitions of finery from the market, and a variety of games for the children. The crisp autumn air was filled with music until it seemed even the rocks and stones joined in the song.

This year, the festival was more than just a celebration of the harvest, it was a celebration of life. Together, the men of the west had defeated the hive in the Emyn Uial. Their victory was not without sorrow, for hundreds of men died in the onslaught, and the people of Thornost mourned great losses. Yet it was agreed they would celebrate harvest as usual, and raise a glass in gratitude to those departed.

As Éiwyn slowly made her way around the throngs of merrymakers, she saw Fern and Bofur, who were to be bound at Yule-tide, dancing among many other couples. The two watched each other with such unreserved happiness, Éiwyn stopped a moment to simply admire them. As she followed their progress, she noticed Fíli sitting alone outside the ring of dancers and walked over to him.

Taking up one half of the straw bale he sat on, she greeted him with a playful scolding. "Do you not dance, Fíli?"

"Not this one, I'm afraid," he answered. "Too many arm motions, and all of that." The shoulder wound he had received in the Emyn Uial was mending well, although it still gave him pain from time to time. The healers had agreed it was a lucky thing the orc blade had moved not one hair left or right, or it would have proved fatal.

"I'm sure there are young women within these walls who wouldn't mind making accommodations for a dance with you."

"I may have my eye on one or two," he said with a sly smile.

"One or two?"

Fíli nodded once in confirmation of the unasked question. "One." She smiled at his admission but questioned him no further.

"One what?" Kíli asked as he dropped himself on his brother's other side. He was red cheeked from dancing and drank deeply from a mug of ale. After handily winning the archery competition, he seemed to have made it his mission that evening to dance every last song that was played.

"One dance with you is all any woman can tolerate," Fíli said, jostling against his brother's shoulder.

"Aye, that's all it takes before they are madly in love with me," Kíli said with a devilish grin. He set his ale down beside Fíli. "Come, Éiwyn, let's see if you can withstand my charms. Come and dance with me."

Éiwyn little envied the woman Kíli _would_ try to charm. Any young woman would find it difficult to maintain her resolve, plied with his roguish smiles and shameless flirtation. She placed her hand in his and he led her into the great ring of dancers. While a little troupe played on flute and clarinet, viol and harp, Éiwyn laughed as she and Kíli spun and jigged and clapped along to the dance. She did not know the motions and several times spun the wrong direction, but she danced just as merrily as the rest.

When at last the song ended, Éiwyn was out of breath from dancing and laughing. She turned to see that Thorin was standing beside Fíli, watching the festivities with a keen eye. Her heart leapt just to see him and she rushed to his side.

"I am absent but a few minutes and you must resort to this?" His face was stern, but his mouth turned up and his eyes shone as he gestured to his nephew.

"Kíli is a lovely dancer," she said in defense of the young man beside her.

"Yes, _lovely_ ," Fíli smirked.

"You know what they say," Kíli said to his brother, "skilled on his feet, skilled between the -" He choked when he noticed his uncle's raised eyebrows. "Well, you know the rest," he muttered. Fíli shook his head, laughing silently.

"How is Nori?" Éiwyn asked Thorin as though she had not heard Kíli's little adage. Her pink cheeks proved she had.

"He continues to improve," Thorin said. Nori had been gravely injured in the battle and remained in the healing rooms. "He is sorry to miss out on the festival, but the ale I brought him will help ease his regrets. If the healers do not confiscate it, that is."

"Come, Uncle," Kíli said, "we have not had a song from you yet. Won't you play for us?"

"No," Thorin said as he laced one arm around Éiwyn's waist, "I have promised to sing only to my wife." The shine had not yet worn off and she still found herself reveling in each time he named her _wife_.

Fíli smiled as he drank his brother's ale, while Kíli's excitement faded from his face. His disappointment did not last, however, for he soon found another dance partner and was laughing and jigging again in an instant.

"Kíli is going to injure himself in his enthusiasm," Thorin observed drily.

He and Éiwyn watched the dance progress from the sidelines, their arms wrapped around each other's waists. Balin played a song on the viol, his arm fairly buzzing as he drew the bow across the instrument he held between his knees. Dís danced with Dwalin, who wore a strange smile as his feet nimbly performed the quick dance steps. Children ran to and fro around the edge of the dancing, apparently making a game of seeing how close they could get without tripping up couples.

A chill breeze blew as bonfires sent curls of burning embers up into the darkening sky. Éiwyn snuggled closer to Thorin, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. The music changed to a slower pace, and Fíli made his way to a young woman to ask for a dance. She seemed only too happy to accept, and Éiwyn guessed this was the _one_ he had mentioned.

She turned her attention back to her own _one_. "You know you have not, yet," she said as she looked up at him.

A smile curled along his lips. "I have not yet what?"

"Sung me a song."

"No?" He nuzzled his whiskers against her hair, bringing his mouth close to her ear. "I thought sure I did."

"I would remember," she said with as much resolve as she could muster when he spoke to her in such low tones. His voice alone did things to her insides she couldn't quite describe.

"I will sing you one tonight," he said as he trailed his fingers along her hairline and down to her jaw. He moved as though to kiss her but stopped just short of her lips. "I will make sure you remember." He remained there, his mouth hovering over hers. She craned her neck to kiss him briefly. The look he gave her made plain his disappointment.

"That is no way to treat your husband," he teased. He wrapped his arms around her and lightly pinched her waist. "It was not long ago that you kissed me, far more passionately, I might add, before the entire city."

"I was overcome." She tried to put on an air of matronly disapproval, but the effect was ruined by her mischievous grin.

He fixed her with a heavy gaze. "And are you not overcome now?"

She shook her head slowly, but reached up and lightly tugged on one of his braids. "I kissed you first, remember."

He made a sound deep in his throat. "I shall never forget it, my little rabbit."

Tracing her hands along his shoulders to the back of his neck, she pulled him closer and kissed him under the autumn moon.

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A heartfelt thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed, favorited or just read in anonymity - thank you for reading my story! I've immensely enjoyed writing it & sharing it with you.


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